J 


WHEN  EGYPT 
WENT  BROKE 


OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELEo 


Books  by  HOLMAX  DAY 

JTken  Egypt  Went  B-.k; 

.:'.'.'-  .7':  .-:  .V:  --:.-:- 

The  Rider  of  tie  King  Z  r 

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TkiKedLame 

Tie  RamroddfTs 

.'..'  -Ij-uY::/- 

Wkere  Your  Treasure  Is 


Man  Dean. 


Haiper  &  Brothers,  P^'dij^fj 
New    York    and    London 


[  See  page  140 

HE      FISHED     FROM     HIS     WAISTCOAT     POCKET     A     SMALL     READING 
GLASS     AND    STUDIED    THE     PAGE 


WHEN  EGYPT  WENT 
BROKE:  A  NOVEL  BY 
HOLMAN  DAY 


HARPER    Sf    BROTHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

MCMXXI 


WHEN  EGYPT  WENT  BROKE 


Copyright,  1921,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

F-V 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  T.  BRITT  STARTS  TO  COLLECT i 

II.  FIRST  COLLECTIONS 12 

III.  MORE  COLLECTIONS 21 

IV.  THE  ACHE  OF  RAPPED  KNUCKLES       ....  39 
V.  "AND  PHARAOH'S  HEART  WAS  HARDENED"     .  52 

VI.  "THE  HORNET"  GOES  TO  PRESS 63 

VII.  SQUARED  OFF  AND  ALL  SET 79 

VIII.  Two  AGAINST  THE  FIELD 91 

IX.  THE  NIGHT  BROUGHT  COUNSEL 106 

X.  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  SORRY 114 

XL  SACKS  AND  MOUTHS — ALL  SEALED      ....  123 

XII.  SOMETHING  TO  BE  EXPLAINED 133 

XIII.  MISFORTUNE  MEDDLES 143 

XIV.  A  BANK  TURNED  INSIDE  OUT 155 

XV.  VIA  THE  PRESIDENT'S  PRIVATE  WAY       .     .     .  164 

XVI.  LOOKED  AT  SQUARELY        183 

XVII.  ON  THE  FACE  OF  IT 196 

XVIII.  A  PERSISTENT  BELIEF 206 

XIX.  AND  PHARAOH'S  HEART  WAS  HARDENED    .     .  218 

XX.  No  STRAW  FOR  THE  BRICKS       228 

XXL  BLOOD  OUT  OF  TURNIPS 239 

XXII.  THE  TAUT  STRING  SNAPS 253 

XXIII.  No  VOICE  FROM  THE  PIT  262 


2129176 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PACK 

XXIV.  THE  SHADE  WHO  STALLED 274 

XXV.  THE  FIRST  PEEP  BEHIND  THE  CURTAIN      .     .  284 

XXVI.  THE  SHOW-DOWN 299 

XXVII.  THE  STIR  OF  THE  YEAST 312 

XXVIII.  THE  SHADE  WHO  MEDDLED 322 

XXIX.  THE  Fox  WHO  WAS  RUN  TO  EARTH      .     .     .  337 

XXX.  THE  PROMISED  LAND 346 

XXXI.  THROUGH    THE    GATES    OF    THE  DAWN   INTO 

"LIBERTY" 355 


WHEN  EGYPT 
WENT  BROKE 


WHEN    EGYPT 
WENT    BROKE 

CHAPTER  I 

T.    BRITT   STARTS   TO   COLLECT 

HTASPER  BRITT  arose  in  the  gray  dawn,  as 
•*•  usual. 

Some  fishermen,  seeking  bait,  stay  up  late  and 
"jack"  angleworms  with  a  bull's-eye  light.  The 
big  worms  are  abroad  on  the  soil  under  cover  of  the 
darkness.  Other  fishermen  get  up  early  and  dig 
while  the  dew  is  holding  the  smaller  worms  near  the 
surface  of  the  ground;  in  going  after  worms  the 
shrewd  operator  makes  the  job  easy  for  himself. 

Tasper  Britt — "Twelve-per-cent  Britt" — trimmed 
his  slumber  at  both  ends — was  owl  and  early  bird, 
both,  in  his  pursuit  of  the  pence  of  the  people,  and 
got  'em  coming  and  going. 

He  was  the  money  boss  or  the  town  of  Egypt, 
and  those  who  did  not  give  him  his  per  cent  nick 
name  called  him  "Phay-ray-oh" — but  behind  his 

i 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

back,  of  course.  To  his  face  his  debt  slaves  bespoke 
his  favor  obsequiously.  Seeing  that  nearly  every 
"Egyptian"  with  collateral  owed  him  money, 
Mr.  Britt  had  no  fault  to  find  with  his  apparent 
popularity.  He  did  believe,  complacently,  that  he 
was  popular.  A  man  who  was  less  sure  of  himself 
would  not  have  dared  to  appear  out,  all  at  once, 
with  his  beard  dyed  purple-black  and  with  a  scratch 
wig  to  match.  Men  gasped  when  they  came  into 
his  office  in  Britt  Block,  but  men  held  their  faces 
measurably  under  control  even  though  their  dia 
phragms  fluttered;  the  need  of  renewing  a  note — 
paying  a  bonus  for  the  privilege — helped  supplicants 
to  hold  in  any  bubbling  hilarity.  Therefore,  Mr. 
Britt  continued  to  be  assured  that  he  was  pretty 
generally  all  right,  so  far  as  the  folks  of  Egypt  were 
concerned. 

Mr.  Britt  dyed  after  Hittie  died.  That  was  when 
he  was  past  sixty-five. 

It  was  only  the  familiar,  oft-repeated  instance  of 
temperament  being  jounced  out  of  a  lifelong  rut 
by  a  break  in  wedlock  relations. 

Hittie  was  his  yoke-mate,  pulling  hard  at  his  side 
with  wages  of  food  and  drink.  The  two  of  them 
kept  plodding  steadily  in  the  dry  and  rocky  road  all 
the  years,  never  lifting  their  eyes  to  look  over  into 
pastures  forbidden.  Perhaps  if  Hittie  had  been  left 
with  the  money,  after  the  yoke  had  been  sundered, 
she  would  have  kicked  up  her  heels  in  a  few  final 


T.  Britt  Starts  to  Collect 

capers  of  consolation,  in  order  to  prove  to  herself, 
by  brief  experience,  how  much  better  consistent 
sainthood  was  as  a  settled  state. 

In  view  of  such  a  possibility — and  widows  are  not 
altogether  different  from  widowers — it  was  hardly 
fair  in  the  folks  of  Egypt  to  twist  every  act  of 
Widower  Britt  to  his  discredit  and  to  make  him  out 
a  renegade  of  a  relict.  He  did  go  through  all  the 
accepted  motions  as  a  mourner.  He  took  on 
"something  dreadful"  at  the  funeral.  He  placed 
in  the  cemetery  lot  a  granite  statue  of  himself,  in  a 
frock  coat  of  stone  and  holding  a  stone  plug  hat  in 
the  hook  of  the  elbow.  That  statue  cost  Tasper 
Britt  rising  sixteen  hundred  dollars — and  after  he 
dyed  his  beard  and  bought  the  top  piece  of  hair, 
the  satirists  of  Egypt  were  unkind  enough  to  say 
that  he  had  set  his  stone  image  out  in  the  grave 
yard  to  scare  Hittie  if  she  tried  to  arise  and  spy  on 
his  new  carryings-on. 

Mr.  Britt  had  continued  to  be  a  consistent 
mourner,  according  to  the  old-fashioned  conventions. 

When  he  arose  in  the  dawn  of  the  day  with  which 
the  tale  begins  and  unwound  a  towel  from  his  jowls 
— for  the  new  Magnetic  Hair  Restorer  had  an  am 
bitious  way  of  touching  up  the  pillow-slip  with 
color — he  beheld  a  memento,  composed  of  assembled 
objects,  "sacred  to  the  memory  of  Mehitable."  In 
a  frame,  under  glass,  on  black  velvet  were  these 
items:  silver  plate  from  casket,  hair  switch,  tumbler 

3 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

and  spoon  with  which  the  last  medicine  had  been 
administered,  wedding  ring  and  marriage  certificate; 
photograph  in  center.  The  satirists  had  their  com 
ment  for  that  memento — they  averred  that  it  was 
not  complete  without  the  two  dish  towels  to  which 
Hittie  had  been  limited. 

Mr.  Britt  inspected  the  memento  and  sighed; 
that  was  before  he  had  touched  up  his  beard  with  a 
patent  dye  comb. 

After  he  had  set  the  scratch  wig  on  his  glossy  poll 
and  had  studied  himself  in  the  mirror  he  looked 
more  cheerful  and  pulled  a  snapshot  photograph 
from  a  bureau  drawer,  gazed  on  it  and  sighed  again. 
It  was  the  picture  of  a  girl,  a  full-length  view  of  a 
mighty  pretty  girl  whose  smiling  face  was  backed 
by  an  open  sunshade.  She  was  in  white  garb  and 
wore  no  hat. 

"Vona,"  said  Mr.  Britt,  talking  out  as  if  the  sound 
of  his  voice  fortified  his  faith,  "you're  going  to  see 
this  thing  in  the  right  way,  give  you  time.  I'm 
starting  late — but  I'm  blasted  wide  awake  from 
now  on.  I  have  gone  after  money,  but  money  ain't 
everything.  I  reckon  that  by  to-night  I  can  show 
you  honors  that  you'll  share  with  me — they've  been 
waiting  for  me,  and  now  I'll  reach  out  and  take  'em 
for  your  sake.  Hittie  didn't  know  what  to  do  with 
money — honors  would  have  bothered  her.  But  with 
a  girl  like  you  I  can  grab  in  and  relish  living  for  the 
rest  of  this  life." 

4 


T.  Britt  Starts  to  Collect 

Then  Mr.  Britt  went  over  to  the  tavern  to  get  his 
breakfast. 

By  eating  his  three  meals  per  day  at  the  tavern 
he  was  indulging  his  new  sense  of  liberty.  He  and 
Hittie  always  used  to  eat  in  the  kitchen — meals  on 
the  dot,  as  to  time.  The  tavern  was  little  and  dingy, 
and  Egypt  was  off  the  railroad  line,  and  there  were 
few  patrons,  and  old  Files  cut  his  steak  very  close 
to  the  critter's  horn.  But  after  the  years  of  routine 
at  a  home  table  there  was  a  sort  of  clubman,  devil- 
may-care  suggestion  about  this  new  regime  at  the 
tavern;  and  after  his  meals  Britt  sat  in  the  tavern 
office  and  smoked  a  cigar.  Furthermore,  he  held  a 
mortgage  on  the  tavern  and  Files  was  behind  on  the 
interest  and  was  eagerly  and  humbly  glad  to  pay  his 
creditor  with  food.  In  order  to  impress  a  peddler 
or  other  transient  guest  the  creditor  was  in  the 
habit  of  calling  in  Files  and  ordering  him  to  recook 
portions. 

In  his  new  sense  of  expansion  as  a  magnate, 
Tasper  Britt  took  his  time  about  eating  and  allowed 
men  with  whom  he  had  dealings  to  come  into  the 
dining  room  and  sit  down  opposite  and  state  their 
cases. 

That  morning  Ossian  Orne  came  in  and  sat  at  the 
table  without  asking  for  permission  to  be  admitted 
to  such  intimacy.  He  came  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  was  keeping  an  appointment,  and  Mr.  Britt's 
manner  of  greeting  Orne  showed  that  this  was  so. 

5 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

Mr.  Orne  did  not  remove  the  earlapper  cap  which 
the  nippy  February  day  demanded;  nor  did  he 
shuck  off  the  buffalo  coat  whose  baldness  in  the  rear 
below  the  waistline  suggested  the  sedentary  habits 
of  Mr.  Orne.  He  selected  a  doughnut  from  the  plate 
at  Britt's  elbow  and  munched  placidly. 

Landlord  Files,  who  was  bringing  ham  and  eggs 
to  a  commercial  drummer,  was  amazed  by  this 
familiarity  and  stopped  and  showed  that  amazement. 
He  was  more  astonished  by  what  he  overheard. 
Mr.  Orne  was  saying,  "As  your  manager,  Britt — 

Mr.  Britt  scowled  at  Mr.  Files,  and  the  latter 
slap-slupped  on  his  slippered  way;  it  was  certainly 
news  that  Britt  had  taken  on  a  manager.  Such  a 
personage  must  be  permitted  to  be  familiar.  When 
Mr.  Files  looked  again,  Mr.  Orne  was  eating  a  second 
doughnut.  He  was  laying  down  the  law  to  a  nodding 
and  assenting  Mr.  Britt  on  some  point,  and  then  he 
took  a  third  doughnut  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"I'll  be  back  to-night,  with  full  details  and  further 
instructions  to  you,  Britt,"  declared  Mr.  Orne,  who 
was  known  in  the  county  political  circles  as  "Sniffer" 
Orne.  He  combined  politics  with  nursery-stock  can 
vassing  and  had  a  way  of  his  own  in  getting  under 
the  skins  of  men  when  he  went  in  search  of  infor 
mation.  "If  I  ain't  back  to-night  I'll  report  to 
morrow.  I  may  have  to  take  a  run  over  into  Norway, 
Vienna,  and  Peru  to  make  sure  of  how  things  stand 
generally." 

6 


T.  Britt  Starts  to  Collect 

He  trudged  out,  stooping  forward  and  waddling" 
with  the  gait  of  a  parrot  ambling  along  on  a  pole; 
his  projecting  coat  tail  and  his  thin  beak  gave  him 
a  sort  of  avian  look.  The  commercial  drummer, 
overhearing  his  projected  itinerary,  glanced  out  of 
the  window  as  if  he  expected  to  see  Mr.  Orne 
spread  wings  and  fly.  But  Mr.  Orne  tucked  himself 
into  a  high-backed  sleigh  and  went  jangling  off  along; 
Egypt's  single  street. 

The  stranger,  inquiring  of  Mr.  Files,  learned  that 
Mr.  Orne  was  not  as  much  of  a  globe-trotter  as  he 
sounded. 

"It's  only  the  way  the  Old  Sirs  named  the  towns 
in  the  ranges  about  here  when  the  land  was  took  up. 
In  this  range  we  have  Egypt  and  them  other  towns 
you  heard  him  speak  of.  In  the  next  range  below  are 
Jerusalem  and  Damascus  and  Levant  and  Purgatory 
Mills.  If  them  unorganized  townships  to  the  north 
of  us  are  ever  took  up  and  made  towns  of,  it  would 
be  just  like  some  whifflehead  to  name  'em  Heaven, 
Hell,  Hooray,  and  Hackmetack.  But  the  name  of 
Egypt  fits  this  town  all  right,"  stated  Mr.  Files, 
disconsolately,  and  in  his  perturbation  raising  his 
voice. 

"Files,  don't  run  down  your  home  town,"  rasped 
Mr.  Britt. 

"What  has  been  run  down  as  far  's  it  can  be  run 
can't  be  run  no  farther,"  said  the  landlord.  "And 
I  'ain't  said  why  the  name  Egypt  fits  the  town,  for 
2  7 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

that  matter."  Britt's  ugly  stare  was  taking  the 
spirit  out  of  the  landlord's  rebelliousness. 

"Suppose  you  do  say!"  counseled  Mr.  Britt, 
menace  in  his  tones.  "I've  got  a  new  and  special 
reason,  right  now,  why  I  demand  that  every  citizen 
must  uphold  the  good  name  of  our  town — especially 
a  citizen  in  your  position,  first  to  meet  all  arriving 
strangers.  Why  does  the  name  fit  this  town?"  He 
banged  the  handle  of  his  knife  on  the  table. 

Mr.  Britt  had  reason  for  the  heat  which  he  was 
displaying  and  which  caused  the  stranger  to  open 
his  eyes  more  widely.  Mr.  Britt  was  fully  aware 
that  men  called  him  "Phay-ray-oh"  and  that  his 
statue  in  the  cemetery  was  called  "The  Sphinx." 
He  knew  that  since  the  town  had  gone  on  the  down 
grade  through  debt  and  the  decay  of  industries  the 
inhabitants  had  begun  to  call  themselves  "The  Chil 
dren  of  Israel,"  and  to  say  they  were  trying  to  make 
bricks  without  straw.  In  fact,  an  itinerant  evangelist 
who  called  himself  "The  Light  of  the  World"  had 
come  to  town  and  was  trying  to  exhort  the  inhab 
itants  into  rebellion  against  conditions,  and  in  his 
crack-brained  hysteria  was  having  some  success  in 
exciting  "The  Children"  to  protest  against  the 
domination  by  Tasper  Britt. 

Mr.  Files  was  not  as  handy  with  his  tongue  as  he 
was  with  the  mallet  with  which  he  pounded  steak. 
He  struggled  with  an  inept  reply  about  an  old  town 
having  a  dignified  old  name.  He  stuttered  and 


T.  Britt  Starts  to  Collect 

stopped  when  Britt  came  and  stood  in  front  of  him, 
chewing  savagely  on  a  toothpick. 

"Files,  I  wasn't  intending  to  make  a  formal  an 
nouncement  till  my  political  manager,  Ossian  Orne, 
gets  back  with  reports  from  the  field.  Not  but  what 
I  expect  that  when  it  is  known  that  I'm  willing  to 
accept  political  honor  it  will  be  given  to  me.  But 
when  I  sit  in  the  next  legislature  of  this  state  as 
Representative  Britt  of  Egypt,  I  propose  to  repre 
sent  a  town  that  ain't  slurred  at  home  or  abroad. 
Hereafter,  mind  your  tongue  and  advise  others  to  do 
the  same." 

He  stamped  out.  Landlord  Files  was  left  stand 
ing  with  an  open  mouth  from  which  no  speech  issued. 

"Emperor,  or  only  a  plain  king?"  inquired  the 
bagman. 

"You  being  a  stranger,  I  can  let  out  some  of  my 
feelings,"  returned  Mr.  Files.  "Emperor,  say  you? 
He  might  just  as  well  try  to  be  one  as  to  run  for  the 
legislature." 

The  drummer  showed  interest. 

"That's  what  getting  to  be  a  widderer  can  do 
to  some  men,"  confided  the  landlord.  He  placed 
a  smutty  hand  on  the  table  and  leaned  down. 
"That  legislature  thing  ain't  the  half  of  it,  mister! 
He  hasn't  blacked  his  whiskers  and  bought  that 
false  mane  simply  so  as  to  get  into  politics.  He's 
trying  to  court  the  prettiest  girl  in  this  town.'* 

"Aha!"  said  the  drummer.  "The  old  story! 

9 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

Cleopatra,  queen  of  Egypt,  is  doing  the  job  over 
again  with  the  local  Mark  Antony!" 

"Mebbe,"  admitted  Mr.  Files,  his  fishy  gaze 
revealing  that  he  had  no  personal  knowledge  of  the 
parties  mentioned.  "It's  the  old  story,  all  right. 
Widdereritis,  and  a  bad  run  of  it." 

The  bagman  had  a  scarfpin  in  the  shape  of  a  horse 
shoe.  His  comment  was  in  line  with  his  taste  in 
adornment.  "Files,  old  scout,  if  a  colt  is  put  to 
harness  so  early  that  he  can't  get  his  natural  fling 
in  the  fields,  he'll  have  it  at  the  other  end  of  his  life, 
when  he's  let  run  to  pasture,  spavin  or  no  spavin. 
Why  don't  Egypt  hold  off  and  let  Uncle  What's- 
his-name  enjoy  his  new  hair  and  hopes?" 

"He  has  known  how  to  collect  in  the  money  that's 
due  him,"  stated  Mr.  Files,  "compound  interest 
and  all!  He  was  only  getting  back  his  investments. 
But  he  has  never  put  out  any  of  the  kind  of  capital 
that  earns  liking  or  respect  or  love.  He  has  woke 
up  to  what  he  has  been  missing.  He's  trying  to 
collect  what  he  has  never  invested.  And  he  can't 
do  it,  mister!  No,  sir,  he  can't!" 

The  drummer  was  a  young  man.  He  asked  a 
natural  question.  "Isn't  the  girl  willing  to  be  an 
old  man's  darling?'* 

"You  might  go  over  to  Britt's  bank  and  ask  her," 
suggested  Mr.  Files,  crisply.  "She's  bookkeeper 
there.  But  you'd  better  not  let  that  young  fellow 
that's  cashier  overhear  you." 

10 


T.  Britt  Starts  to  Collect 

"So  that's  it,  eh?  Say,  events  in  Egypt  in  the 
near  future  may  make  some  of  the  mummies  here 
sit  up  and  take  notice!" 

"Shouldn't  wonder  a  mite,"  agreed  Mr.  Files, 
beginning  to  gather  up  the  dishes. 


CHAPTER  II 

FIRST    COLLECTIONS 

'T'HAT  morning  Mr.  Britt  did  not  dawdle  in  the 
A  hotel  office  with  his  cigar.  He  knew  perfectly 
well  that  he  merely  had  been  making  a  pretense  of 
enjoying  that  sybaritism,  putting  on  his  new  club 
man  airs  along  with  his  dye  and  his  toupee. 

Among  other  curios  in  the  office  was  a  dusty, 
stuffed  alligator,  hanging  from  the  ceiling  over  the 
desk.  The  jaws  were  widely  agape  and  Mr.  Britt 
always  felt  an  inclination  to  yawn  when  he  looked 
alligatorward.  Therefore,  the  alligator  offended 
Mr.  Britt  by  suggesting  drowsiness  in  the  morning; 
Mr.  Britt,  up  early,  and  strictly  after  any  worm  that 
showed  itself  along  the  financial  path,  resented  the 
feeling  of  daytime  sleepiness  as  heresy.  Further 
more,  that  morning  the  gaping  alligator  also  sug 
gested  the  countenance  of  the  open-mouthed  Files 
whom  Britt  had  just  left  in  the  dining  room,  and 
Files  had  been  irritating.  Britt  scowled  at  the  alli 
gator,  lighted  a  cigar,  and  hustled  outdoors;  he  had 
the  feeling  that  the  day  was  to  be  an  important  one 
in  his  affairs. 

12 


First  Collections 

Egypt's  Pharaoh  was  able  to  view  considerable 
of  the  town  from  the  tavern  porch.  The  tavern 
was  an  old  stage-coach  house  and  was  boosted  high 
on  a  hill,  according  to  the  pioneer  plan  of  location. 
The  houses  of  the  little  village  straggled  down  the 
hill. 

The  aspect  was  not  uninviting,  seen  under  the 
charitable  cloak  of  February's  snow,  sun-touched 
by  the  freshly  risen  luminary,  the  white  expanses 
glinting;  all  the  rocks  and  ledges  and  the  barren 
slopes  were  covered.  But  under  summer's  frank 
sunlight  Egypt  was  as  disheartening  a  spectacle  as 
a  racked  old  horse,  ribs  and  hip  bones  outthrust, 
waiting  for  the  knacker's  offices. 

There  were  men  in  Egypt — men  whose  reverses 
had  put  them  into  a  particularly  ugly  mood — who 
said  out  loud  in  places  where  Britt  could  not  hear 
them  that  the  money-grabber  could  not  get  much 
more  twelve-per-cent  blood  out  of  the  nag  he  had 
ridden  for  so  long,  and  might  as  well  set  knife  to  neck 
and  put  the  town  out  of  its  misery. 

Right  behind  Britt,  as  he  stood  on  the  porch,  was 
a  sheaf  of  yellowed  papers  nailed  to  the  side  of  the 
tavern.  Nobody  in  Egypt  bothered  to  look  at  the 
papers;  all  the  taxpayers  knew  what  they  were; 
the  papers  were  signed  by  the  high  sheriff  of  the 
county  and  represented  that  all  the  real  estate  of 
Egypt  had  been  sold  over  and  over  for  taxes  and  had 
been  bid  in  by  the  town  as  a  municipality — and 

13 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

there  the  matter  rested.  Egypt,  in  other  words, 
had  been  trying  to  lift  itself  by  the  bootstraps  and 
was  not  merely  still  standing  on  the  ground,  but 
was  considerably  sunk  in  the  hole  that  had  been 
dug  by  the  boot  heels  while  Egypt  was  jumping  up 
and  down.  Mr.  Britt  was  not  troubled  by  the  sight 
of  the  yellowed  papers;  he  owned  mortgages  and 
pulled  in  profit  by  the  legal  curiosities  known  as 
"Holmes  notes" — leeches  of  peculiar  drawing  power. 
Mr.  Britt  did  not  own  real  estate.  Egypt,  in  its 
financial  stress  and  snarl  of  litigation,  was  a  won 
derful  operating  field  for  a  man  with  loose  money 
and  a  tight  nature. 

From  far  swamps  the  whack  of  axes  sounded. 
Mr.  Britt  knew  that  men  were  cutting  hoop  poles 
and  timber  for  shocks;  Egypt  earned  ready  money 
with  which  to  pay  interest,  getting  out  snooks  and 
hoop  poles.  That  occupation  had  been  the  resource 
of  the  pioneers,  and  the  descendants  stuck  to  the 
work,  knowing  how  to  do  it  better  than  anything 
else.  There  was  not  enough  soil  for  farming  on  a 
real  money-making  scale.  The  old  sheep,  so  cynics 
said,  were  trained  to  hold  the  lambs  by  their  tails 
and  lower  them  head  downward  among  the  rocks 
to  graze.  Poor  men  usually  own  dogs.  But  dogs 
would  not  live  long  in  Egypt,  the  cynics  went  on 
to  assert;  the  dogs  ran  themselves  to  death  hustling 
over  the  town  line  to  find  dirt  enough  to  bury  a 
bone. 


First  Collections 

Mr.  Biutt  could  see  his  statue  in  the  cemetery. 

Down  the  street  was  a  one-story  brick  building, 
the  only  brick  structure  in  the  town.  Set  into  the 
front  of  this  building  was  a  replica  of  the  statue  in 
the  cemetery.  Britt  had  secured  special  rates  by 
ordering  two  statues  from  the  stonecutter.  Britt 
possessed  vanity.  He  had  hidden  it,  begrudging 
the  cost  of  gratifying  it.  The  crust  of  his  nature, 
hardening  through  the  years,  had  pressed  upon  that 
vanity.  The  statues,  his  refurbished  beard,  and 
his  rehaired  head  had  relieved  the  pressure  some^ 
what,  but  the  vanity  was  still  sore.  In  his  new 
mood  he  was  dreading  a  blow  on  that  sore  spot. 
He  realized  what  kind  of  a  grudge  he  was  carrying 
around.  A  vague  sense  of  an  unjust  deal  in  life 
is  more  dangerous  to  the  possessor  than  an  acute 
and  concrete  knowledge  of  specific  injury.  The 
vagueness  causes  it  to  be  corelated  to  insanity. 
Britt,  putting  his  belated  aspirations  to  the  test, 
hoped  that  nobody  would  presume  to  hit  on  that 
sore  spot.  He  knew  that  such  an  adventure  might 
be  dangerous  for  the  person  or  persons  who  went 
up  against  him. 

He  buttoned  his  overcoat,  settled  the  cigar 
rigidly  into  one  corner  of  his  mouth,  stared  with 
approval  at  the  stone  image  of  himself  in  the  fafade 
of  Britt  Block,  and  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  porch. 

Across  the  street  sat  a  little  building  above  the 
door  of  which  was  a  sign  inscribed,  "Usial  Britt, 

IS 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

Shoemaker."  That  it  was  a  dwelling  as  well  as 
a  shop  was  indicated  when  a  bare  and  hairy  arm 
was  thrust  from  a  side  window  and  the  refuse  in  a 
smoking  iron  spider  was  dumped  upon  the  snow. 
Simultaneously  it  was  shown  that  more  than  one 
person  tenanted  the  building:  a  man,  bareheaded, 
but  with  a  shaggy  mat  of  reached  hair  that  served 
in  lieu  of  a  hat,  issued  from  the  door.  The  wanton 
luxuriance  of  the  hair  would  have  stirred  envy  in 
any  baldheaded  man;  but  Tasper  Britt  exhibited 
a  passion  that  was  more  virulent  than  envy. 

The  man  who  came  forth  was  "Prophet  Elias." 
It  was  the  newcomer,  the  religious  fanatic,  the 
exhorter  against  oppression  of  the  people  by  usury, 
the  fearless  declaimer  who  named  Tasper  Britt  in 
diatribe  and  was  setting  the  folks  by  the  ears. 

The  Prophet's  morning  greeting  did  not  make  for 
amity.  He  stood  straight  and  pointed  in  turn  to 
the  visible  statues  and  then  to  Tasper  Britt,  in 
person.  "Baal,  and  the  images  of  Baal!"  he  shouted. 
"Stone,  all  three!" 

Then  he  stepped  from  the  door  and  spread  a 
prodigiously  big  umbrella — an  umbrella  striped  in 
dingy  colors  and  of  the  size  of  the  canopies  seen 
over  the  drivers  of  delivery  wagons.  The  employ 
ment  of  such  a  shield  from  the  sun  in  midwinter 
indicated  that  the  Prophet  was  rather  more  than 
eccentric;  his  garb  conveyed  the  same  suggestion. 
He  wore  a  frayed  purple  robe  that  hung  on  his  heels 

16 


First  Collections 

when  he  came  striding  across  the  street.  On  a 
broad  band  of  cloth  that  once  had  been  white, 
reaching  from  shoulder  to  waist,  diagonally  across 
his  breast,  were  the  words,  "The  Light  of  the  World." 

Tasper  Britt  surveyed  him  with  venomous  gaze  as 
he  advanced.  But  Britt  shifted  his  stare  and  put 
additional  venom  into  the  look  he  gave  a  man  who 
came  to  the  door  and  stood  there,  leaning  against  the 
jamb  and  surveying  the  scene  with  a  satisfied  grin. 
There  was  no  need  of  the  name  "Britt"  above  his 
head  to  proclaim  his  kinship  with  the  man  who 
stood  on  the  tavern  porch.  The  beard  of  the  Britt 
in  the  door  was  gray,  and  his  head  was  bald.  But 
he  was  Tasper  Britt,  in  looks,  as  Britt  unadorned 
ought  to  have  been.  There  was  something  like  subtle 
reproach  in  his  sticking  to  nature  as  nature  had  or 
dained.  And  the  folks  of  Egypt  had  been  having 
much  to  say  about  Usial  Britt  putting  this  new  touch 
of  malice  into  the  long-enduring  feud  between 
twin  brothers — even  though  he  merely  went  on  as  he 
had  been  going,  bald  and  gray.  But,  because  Usial 
had  taken  to  going  about  in  public  places  wherever 
Tasper  appeared,  and  unobtrusively  got  as  near  his 
brother  as  possible  on  those  occasions,  and  winked 
and  pointed  to  himself  and  suggested  "  Before  using!" 
the  malice  was  apparent. 

Usial,  in  the  door,  stroked  his  smooth  poll  com 
placently  and  grinned. 

Tasper,  on  the  porch,  shook  his  fist. 

17 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

Prophet  Elias  marched  close  to  the  porch  and 
struck  an  attitude.  "Hear  ye!  Hath  not  Job  said, 
'The  triumphing  of  the  wicked  is  short,  and  the  joy 
of  the  hypocrite  but  for  a  moment'?" 

A  man  who  was  humped  over  a  sawbuck  in  a  near 
by  yard  straightened  up  and  began  to  pay  strict 
attention.  A  driver  halted  a  sled  loaded  with  un- 
shaved  hoop  poles,  and  listened.  The  commercial 
drummer  came  out  on  the  porch. 

"Look  here,  you  crazy  coot,  haven't  I  given  you 
fair  warning  about  tongue-whaling  me  in  public?" 
demanded  the  man  who  was  pilloried. 

"Behold,  all  they  that  are  incensed  against  thee 

shall   be   ashamed    and   confounded,'"   quoted   the 

Prophet,  pounding  his  fist  against  the  lettered  breast. 

"They  shall  be  as  nothing;    and  they  that  strive 

with  thee  shall  perish." 

Mr.  Britt  leaped  off  the  porch,  thrust  the  Prophet 
from  his  path,  and  strode  across  the  street  toward 
the  man  in  the  door.  The  brother  did  not  lose  his 
smile.  He  maintained  his  placid  demeanor  even 
when  an  angry  finger  slished  through  the  air  close 
under  his  nose. 

"I  never  intended  to  pass  speech  with  you  again, 
you  renegade,"  stormed  Tasper.  "But  I'm  talking 
to-day  for  a  town  that  I  propose  to  represent  in  the 
legislature,  and  I  won't  have  it  shamed  any  longer 
by  a  lunatic  that  you're  harboring." 

Usial  Britt  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "The  legislature, 

18 


First  Collections 

eh?."  He  puckered  his  lips  and  whistled  a  few  bars 
of  "Hail  to  the  Chief." 

Candidate  Britt  waggled  the  monitory  finger  more 
energetically.  "You  are  sheltering  and  ste'boying 
on  a  crazy  man  who  is  making  the  rest  of  the  people 
in  this  town  crazy.  If  they  hadn't  grown  loony 
they'd  ride  him  out  over  the  line  on  a  rail." 

The    Prophet    had    arrived    at    Britt's    shoulder. 

"But  God  has  chosen  the  foolish  things  of  the  world 

to  confound  the  wise;   and  God  has  chosen  the  weak 

things  of  the  world  to  confound  the  things  which  are 

mighty.'" 

"I  don't  guarantee  my  guest's  brains,"  said  the 
Britt  in  the  door,  "but  I  do  vouch  for  the  correctness 
of  his  memory  when  it  comes  to  the  matter  of  Gospel 
quotations.  And  a  cracked  record  doesn't  always 
spoil  a  good  tune." 

"I'll  have  him  in  the  lockup  as  a  tramp,  or  on  the 
poor  farm  as  a  lunatic." 

"You  mean,  that's  where  you  would  have  him  if 
the  shelter  of  my  roof  didn't  give  him  legal  protec 
tion,"  returned  Usial,  calm  in  the  face  of  wrath. 

' '  I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye  took  me  in,' "  declaimed 
the  Prophet. 

"And  I'm  keeping  you  on,"  stated  the  cynical 
Usial,  speaking  for  his  brother's  benefit,  "because 
you're  a  self-operating,  red-hot  gad  that  is  helping 
me  torment  yon  pirate  with  texts  after  I  had  run 
out  of  cuss  words.  Go  ahead,  Prophet!  Shoot  any- 

19 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

thing.  It's  a  poor  text  that  will  not  hit  him  some 
place." 

Obediently,  the  fanatic  began  to  mouth  Holy 
Writ  in  orotund.  Tasper  Britt  raised  his  fist.  But 
the  devil  himself  shrinks  before  The  Word.  Britt 
did  not  strike.  His  face  revealed  his  emotions;  he 
could  not  bring  himself  to  assault  this  fountain  of 
sacred  aphorisms. 

He  turned  and  marched  away  down  the  middle  of 
the  road,  stamping  hard  into  the  snow. 

One  of  the  listeners  was  a  man  who  came  bearing 
a  pair  of  shoes.  Usial  Britt  took  them  from  the 
man's  hand.  "  You  can  have  'em  to-morrow  night." 

"  But  there's  only  a  little  patch  needed — " 

"To-morrow  night,  I  said.  I've  got  other  business 
for  to-day."  He  went  into  the  house  and  slammed 
the  door. 

The  Prophet  set  his  umbrella  over  his  head  and 
went  away  on  the  trail  of  Egypt's  Pharaoh. 


CHAPTER  III 

MORE    COLLECTIONS 

'"FHERE  was  a  door  in  the  middle  of  the  fa9ade  of 
•*•  the  low  brick  building;  there  were  two  windows 
on  either  side  of  the  door.  On  the  left-hand  windows 
was  painted  in  black  letters,  "Egypt  Trust  Com 
pany."  On  the  right-hand  windows  was  painted, 
"T.  Britt."  There  was  no  legend  to  indicate  what 
the  business  of  T.  Britt  might  be.  None  was  re 
quired.  The  mere  name  carried  full  information  for 
all  Egypt. 

Mr.  Britt  glanced  in  at  the  left-hand  windows  as 
he  approached  the  door.  Cashier  Frank  Vaniman 
was  sweeping  out. 

When  President  Britt  of  the  new  Egypt  Trust 
Company  went  down  to  a  business  college  in  the  city 
in  search  of  a  cashier,  he  quizzed  candidates  in  quest 
of  what  he  termed  "foolish  notions."  Young  Mr. 
Vaniman,  who  had  supported  himself  ever  since  he 
was  fourteen  years  old,  and  had  done  about  every 
thing  in  the  ten  years  since  then  in  the  way  of  work, 
grabbing  weeks  or  months  for  his  schooling  when  he 
had  a  bit  of  money  ahead,  passed  the  test  very  well, 

21 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

according  to  Mr.  Britt's  notion.  Young  Mr.  Vani- 
man  had  secured  a  business  education  piecemeal,  and 
was  a  bit  late  in  getting  it,  but  Mr.  Britt  promptly 
perceived  that  the  young  man  had  not  been  hung  up 
by  stupidity  or  sloth.  So  he  hired  Vaniman,  finding 
him  a  strapping  chap  without  foolish  notions. 

Vaniman  was  cashier,  receiving  teller,  paying 
teller,  swept  out,  tended  the  furnace,  and  kept  the 
books  of  the  bank  until  Britt  hired  Vona  Harnden 
for  that  job.  Vona  had  been  teaching  school  to 
help  out  her  folks,  in  the  prevailing  Egyptian 
famine  in  finance. 

But  folks  stopped  paying  taxes,  and  the  town 
orders  by  the  school  committee  on  the  treasurer  were 
not  honored;  therefore,  Vona  gratefully  took  a 
place  in  the  bank  when  Mr.  Britt  called  her  into  his 
office  one  day  and  offered  the  job  to  her.  He  said 
that  the  work  was  getting  to  be  too  much  for  Frank. 
That  consideration  for  hired  help  impressed  Miss 
Harnden  and  she  smiled  very  sweetly  indeed,  and 
Mr.  Britt  beamed  back  at  her  in  a  fashion  that  en 
tirely  disarranged  for  the  rest  of  the  day  the  set  look 
that  he  creased  into  his  features  before  his  mirror 
every  morning.  Several  clients  took  advantage  of 
his  blandness  and  renewed  notes  without  paying  the 
premium  that  Britt  exacted  when  he  loaned  his  own 
money  as  a  private  venture. 

President  Britt  entered  the  door,  but  he  did  not  go 
into  the  bank  at  once.  He  marched  along  the  corri- 

22 


More  Collections 

dor  and  unlocked  his  office  and  toasted  himself  over 
the  furnace  register  while  he  finished  his  cigar; 
Vaniman  was  a  good  fireman  and  was  always  down 
early.  Mr.  Britt  kept  his  ear  cocked;  he  knew  well 
the  tap  of  certain  brisk  boot  heels  that  sounded  in 
the  corridor  every  morning  and  he  timed  his  move 
ments  accordingly. 

By  being  on  the  alert  for  sounds,  he  heard  what 
did  not  comport  with  the  comfort  of  his  office. 
Prophet  Elias  was  engaged  in  his  regular  morning 
tour  of  duty,  picketing  T.  Britt's  domains,  giving  an 
hour  to  deliverance  of  taunting  texts  before  going 
abroad  through  the  town  on  his  mission  to  the  people 
with  texts  of  comfort;  the  Prophet  carried  plenty 
of  penetrating,  textual  ammunition,  but  he  carried 
poultices  for  the  spirit  as  well. 

Mr.  Britt  heard:  "'Will  he  esteem  thy  riches? 
No,  not  gold,  nor  all  the  forces  of  strength. "'' 

The  usurer  commented  under  his  breath  with  re 
marks  that  were  not  scriptural.  He  threw  away  his 
cigar  and  went  to  a  case  where  he  kept  some  law 
books  which  contained  the  statutes  that  were  con 
cerned  with  money  and  debts  and  dependence;  he 
had  been  hunting  through  the  legislative  acts  re 
garding  vagrants  and  paupers  and  had  been  hoping 
to  light  on  some  legal  twist  that  would  serve  him. 
The  Prophet  kept  on  declaiming.  But  all  at  once  he 
shifted  from  taunts  about  riches.  His  voice  was 
mellow  with  sincere  feeling. 
3  23 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

Said  the  Prophet:  "'Behold,  thou  art  fair,  my 
love;  thou  hast  doves'  eyes  within  thy  locks.  Thy 
teeth  are  like  a  flock  of  sheep  which  came  up  from 
the  washing.  Thy  lips  are  like  a  thread  of  scarlet, 
and  thy  speech  is  comely.  Thou  art  all  fair,  my  love; 
there  is  no  spot  in  thee." 

Mr.  Britt  did  not  wait  in  his  office  for  the  com 
pletion  of  the  panegyric.  He  knew  wrell  enough  what 
arriving  personage  it  heralded.  He  hurried  out  into 
the  corridor  and  faced  the  radiant  girl  who  came  in 
from  the  sunshine.  Even  one  who  might  question 
the  Prophet's  tact  would  not  have  blamed  his 
enthusiasm. 

"Vona,  you  swear  out  a  warrant  and  I'll  have  him 
arrested,"  stammered  the  employer. 

She  checked  her  chirrup  of  laughter  and  her 
smile  faded  when  she  opened  her  eyes  on  Britt's 
sourness. 

"There's  a  law  about  hectoring  and  insulting  a 
female  person  on  the  street — some  kind  of  a  law — 
and  we'll  invoke  it  in  this  case,"  Britt  insisted. 

"Why,  Mr.  Britt,  he's  only  a  harmless  old  man, 
with  extremely  poor  judgment  about  most  things, 
including  a  girl's  looks,"  she  protested. 

"Don't  you  call  that  gabble  an  insult  to  you, 
walking  along  and  minding  your  own  business?" 
His  heat  was  alarming;  he  shook  his  fist  to  indicate 
the  Prophet. 

She  was  unable  to  restrain  her  demure  smile. 

24 


More  Collections 

"The    specifications,    sir,    are    overflattering;     but 
I'm  sure  I  don't  feel  insulted." 

In  the  past  Britt  had  purred  paternally  in  her 
presence  and  had  stared  at  her  in  a  way  that  often 
disconcerted  her.  Now  his  expression  alarmed 
her.  His  face  grew  red.  At  first  she  thought  he 
was  embarrassed  by  the  reflection  that  he  had  been 
terming  the  Prophet's  compliments  an  insult — 
intimating  that  she  had  no  claim  to  such  compli 
ments.  But  Mr.  Britt  did  not  bother  to  deal  with 
that  phase  of  the  matter.  The  flame  was  shifted 
from  his  face  to  his  eyes;  his  cheeks  grew  pale. 
He  tried  to  put  his  arm  about  her.  She  set  her 
gloved  hands  against  the  arm  and  pushed  it  away, 
fright  propping  her  eyelids  wide  apart. 

"I  want  to  protect  you,"  Britt  stuttered.  "I 
don't  want  any  harm  or  trouble  to  come  to  you." 

He  stepped  back  and  gazed  at  her  imploringly. 
His  abashed  obedience,  his  promptness  in  desisting, 
restored  her  self-possession  immediately.  She  had 
the  air  of  one  who  had  misunderstood  friendly 
interest.  "Oh,  Mr.  Britt,  I  know  you  have  a  kind 
heart  underneath  your — I  mean  that  folks  don't 
realize  how  good  you  are  unless  they  are  near  to 
you,  as  Frank  and  I  are.  We  often  speak  of  it." 
She  hurried  on.  She  opened  the  door  admitting 
to  the  bank  from  the  corridor  and  cheerily  called 
her  "Good  morning!"  to  the  cashier  as  she  crossed 
the  threshold. 

25 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

Mr.  Britt  stood  in  his  tracks  in  the  corridor  after 
she  closed  the  door.  He  stared  at  the  floor  with 
eyes  that  saw  nothing.  He  slowly  raised  his  hand 
and  set  his  right  index  finger  upon  the  toupee  and 
scratched  meditatively  through  the  mesh — scratched 
carefully,  having  accustomed  himself  to  handling 
his  boughten  hair  with  cautious  touch.  He  had 
not  liked  her  intonation  when  she  said  "Frank  and 
I."  He  muttered  something  about  his  feelings. 
He  had  never  thought  of  Frank  as  belonging  in 
Vona's  calculations.  He  had  never  considered  even 
the  linking  of  their  names,  much  less  their  interests. 

But  Mr.  Britt,  having  made  money  his  idol, 
could  not  understand  worship  directed  to  any  other 
shrine.  His  face  cleared  while  he  pondered.  A 
girl  who  frankly  declared  at  all  times  that  she  would 
do  'most  anything  to  help  her  family  out  of  their 
troubles  was  not  of  a  mind  to  hitch  up  with  another 
pauper — a  combination  of  choreman  and  cashier — 
even  though  she  had  linked  their  names  casually 
in  speech.  And  Mr.  Britt  mouthed  mumblingly 
some  of  the  sentiments  he  had  put  into  words  that 
morning  when  he  arose.  He  smoothed  down  the 
top  piece  and  looked  more  at  ease.  He  smiled 
when  he  reflected  on  what  he  would  have  to  say  to 
her  after  Emissary  Orne  had  returned  with  something 
in  the  line  of  fruits  from  the  Promised  Land.  His 
self-assurance  revived;  nevertheless,  he  tiptoed  along 
the  corridor  and  listened  at  the  door  of  the  bank. 

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The  reassuring  swish  of  a  broom  and  their  casual 
chatter — he  heard  only  those  commonplace  sounds! 

She  was  asking  Vaniman  if  he  had  mislaid  her 
dust  cloth. 

Vaniman  replied  in  a  tone  which  indicated  that 
the  two  were  at  some  distance  from  each  other. 
There  was  no  subdued  conference — no  murmuring 
of  mushiness  such  as  a  meeting  in  the  morning 
might  be  expected  to  elicit  in  case  there  was  any 
sort  of  an  understanding  between  them.  Mr. 
Britt  tiptoed  away  from  the  door  and  braced  back 
his  shoulders  and  gave  himself  a  shake  of  satisfied 
confidence,  and  went  serenely  into  his  office,  pluck 
ing  a  cigar  from  his  vest  pocket.  By  permitting 
himself  to  smoke  again  he  was  breaking  the  habit 
of  confining  himself  to  one  cigar  after  breakfast. 
But  many  men  in  moments  of  exaltation  seek 
tobacco  or  alcohol. 

Mr.  Britt  felt  that  he  had  broken  the  ice,  at  any 
rate.  Mr.  Britt  decided  that  the  girl  was  heart- 
free  and  entertained  sensible  ideas  about  the  main 
chance — and  she  had  had  a  good  word  to  say  about 
Britt's  kind  heart.  Mr.  Britt  was  sure  that  Frank 
Vaniman  knew  his  place  and  was  keeping  it.  There 
fore,  Mr.  Britt  lighted  a  fresh  cigar  and  blew  visible 
smoke  rings  and  inflated  invisible  mental  bubbles 
and  did  not  pay  any  more  attention  to  what  Prophet 
Elias  was  saying  outside.  And  as  if  the  Prophet 
had  received  a  psychological  hint  that  his  text 

27 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

shafts  were  no  longer  penetrating  the  money  king's 
tough  hide,  the  diminuendo  of  his  orotund  marked 
the  progress  of  his  departure. 

Usually  Mr.  Britt  went  across  into  the  bank  and 
hung  around  after  the  girl  arrived.  On  this  morn 
ing  he  stayed  in  his  office.  According  to  his  notion, 
his  advances  to  her  in  the  corridor,  though  he  had 
not  intended  to  be  so  precipitate  in  the  matter, 
had  given  her  something  to  think  about — and  he 
decided  to  keep  away  and  let  her  think.  If  she 
saw  him  following  the  usual  routine,  her  thoughts 
might  drop  back  into  routine  channels. 

He  thrilled  at  the  memory  of  her  touch  on  his  arm, 
even  though  the  touch  had  been  a  thrusting  of  her 
hands  in  self-defense  and  her  eyes  had  been  big 
with  fright. 

He  sat  down  at  his  desk  and  tore  the  leaf  off  his 
pad  calendar,  starting  his  business  day  as  usual. 
He  looked  at  the  disclosed  date  and  his  eyes  became 
humid.  It  was  February  I4th,  the  day  of  St. 
Valentine.  An  idea  came  to  Mr.  Britt.  He  had 
been  wondering  how  to  approach  the  question  with 
Vona  without  blurting  the  thing  and  making  a 
mess  of  it.  He  determined  to  do  something  that 
he  had  not  attempted  since  he  had  beaued  Hittie; 
he  set  himself  to  compose  a  few  verses  for  a  val 
entine — verses  that  would  pave  the  way  for  a  formal 
declaration  of  his  love  and  his  hopes. 

That  determination  indicated  that  Mr.  Britt  was 

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having  a  severe  run  of  a  second  attack  of  the  same 
malady,  and  he  acknowledged  that  much  to  himself 
as  he  sat  there  and  chewed  the  soggy  end  of  an  extin 
guished  cigar  and  gazed  aloft  raptly,  seeking  rhymes. 

He  made  slow  progress;  his  pen  trailed  as  slug 
gishly  as  a  tracking  snail — a  word  at  a  time.  He 
lost  all  notion  of  how  the  hours  were  slipping  past. 

A  man  walked  in.  He  was  Stickney,  a  cattle 
buyer,  and  a  minor  stockholder  in  the  bank.  Mr. 
Britt,  his  eyes  filmy  with  prolonged  abstraction, 
hooked  his  chin  over  his  shoulder  and  scowled  on 
the  intruder;  a  man  bringing  business  into  that 
office  that  day  was  an  intruder,  according  to  Mr. 
Britt's  opinion. 

Stickney  walked  close  to  the  desk  and  displayed 
a  flash  of  curiosity  when  Britt  laid  his  forearm  over 
his  writing. 

"Spring  pome,  or  only  a  novel?"  queried  Stickney, 
genially,  figuring  that  such  a  question  was  the  height 
of  humor  when  put  to  a  man  of  Tasper  Britt's 
flinty,  practical  nature. 

Mr.  Britt,  like  a  person  touched  smartly  by  a 
brad,  twitched  himself  in  his  chair  and  asked  in 
chilly  tone  what  he  could  do  for  Stickney.  The 
caller  promptly  became  considerable  of  an  icicle 
himself.  He  laid  down  a  little  sheaf  of  papers 
beside  the  shielding  forearm. 

"If  you'll  O.  K.  them  notes  for  discount,  I'll  be 
much  obliged,  and  won't  take  up  valuable  time." 

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When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"We're  tightening  up  on  discounts — calling  in 
many  loans,  too,"  stated  President  Britt,  with 
financial  frigidity. 

"I  know  all  about  your  calling  loans,  Mr.  Britt. 
Much  obliged.  It  makes  a  cracker]  ack  market  for 
me  in  the  cattle  business.  They've  got  to  raise 
money,  and  I'm  setting  my  own  prices."  Stickney 
thawed  and  beamed  on  Britt  with  a  show  of  fra 
ternal  spirit,  as  if  the  banker  were  a  co-conspirator 
in  the  job  of  shaking  down  the  public.  "However, 
my  notes  there  are  all  good  butchers'  paper — 
sound  as  a  pennyroyal  hymn!  I've  got  to  have  the 
cash  so  as  to  steal  more  cattle  while  the  market  is 
as  it  is." 

Britt  pushed  away  the  notes  and  seized  the  oppor 
tunity  to  turn  his  own  papers  upside  down  on  the  desk. 
"We  can't  accommodate  you  at  present,  Stickney." 

The  customer  stepped  back  and  propped  his 
palms  on  his  hips.  "I  reckon  I've  got  to  call  for 
an  explanation." 

"We're  not  in  the  habit  of  explaining  the  details 
of  our  business  to  individuals." 

Stickney  slipped  the  leash  on  his  indignation. 
"'We,'  say  you?  All  right!  'We'  it  is.  I'm  in 
on  that  'we.'  I'm  a  stockholder  in  the  bank.  What 
sort  of  investments  are  'we'  making  that  have 
caused  money  to  be  so  tight  here  that  a  regular 
customer  is  turned  down — and  after  enough  loans 
have  been  called  to  make  the  vault  bulge?" 

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"The  report  will  show,"  returned  Britt,  coldly. 
"I  am  not  called  on  to  issue  that  report  in  install 
ments  every  time  a  stockholder  runs  in  here." 

That  especial  stockholder  stepped  forward  and 
tapped  his  finger  on  the  desk.  "I  don't  say  that 
you  are.  But  now  that  this  subject  is  opened 
up-" 

"The  subject  is  closed,  Stickney." 

"Now  that  the  subject  is  opened  up,'*  insisted 
the  other  man,  'Til  make  mention  of  what  you 
probably  know — that  I  have  regular  business  'most 
every  day  down  in  Levant  at  the  railroad  terminus. 
And  I'm  knowing  to  it  that  regular  shipments  of 
specie  have  been  coming  to  the  bank.  If  that 
specie  is  in  our  vaults  it  ain't  sweating  off  more 
gold  and  silver,  is  it,  or  drawing  interest?  I  know 
you're  a  shrewd  operator,  Britt.  I  ain't  doubting 
but  what  your  plans  may  be  good." 

"They  are!"     President  Britt's  retort  was  crisp. 

"But  when  those  plans  put  a  crimp  into  my  plans 
— and  me  a  steady  customer — I'm  opening  my 
mouth  to  ask  questions." 

"You — and  all  other  stockholders — will  be  fully 
informed  by  the  annual  report — and  will  be  pleased." 
Britt's  air  was  one  of  finality. 

"Let  me  tell  you  that  the  mouth  I  have  opened 
to  ask  questions  will  stay  open  in  regard  to  hoarding 
that  specie  where  it  ain't  drawing  interest." 

Britt  jumped  up  and  shook  his  fist  under  Stick- 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

ney's  snub  nose.  "Don't  you  dare  to  go  blabbing 
around  the  country!  You  might  as  well  set  off  a 
bomb  under  our  bank  as  to  circulate  news  that 
will  attract  robbers." 

"Bomb,  eh?  Britt,  I'm  safe  when  I'm  handled 
right,  but  if  I'm  handled  wrong — "  Stickney  did 
not  finish  his  sentence;  but  his  truculent  air  was 
pregnant  with  suggestion. 

"Do  you  think  you  can  blackmail  me  or  this 
bank  into  making  an  exception  in  your  case  against 
our  present  policy?  Go  ahead  and  talk,  Stickney, 
and  I'll  post  the  people  of  this  town  on  your  selfish 
tactics — and  you'll  see  where  you  get  off!" 

Stickney  did  not  argue  the  matter  further.  He 
looked  like  a  man  who  was  disgusted  because  he 
had  wasted  so  much  time  trying  to  get  around  a 
Tasper  Britt  stony  "No!"  He  picked  up  his  papers, 
stamped  out,  and  slammed  the  door. 

Britt  shook  himself,  like  a  spiritualist  medium 
trying  to  induce  the  trance  state,  and  went  back 
to  his  writing. 

After  a  time  a  dull,  thrumming  sound  attracted 
his  attention.  It  was  something  like  Files's  dinner 
gong,  whose  summons  Mr.  Britt  was  wont  to  obey 
on  the  instant. 

Mr.  Britt  was  certain  that  it  was  not  the  gong; 
however,  he  glanced  up  at  the  clock  on  the  wall; 
then  he  leaped  out  of  his  chair.  In  his  amazement 
he  rapped  out,  "Well,  I'll  be—" 

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That  clock  was  reliable;  it  marked  the  hour  of 
twelve. 

Mr.  Britt  had  received  convincing  evidence  that 
the  rhapsody  of  composition  makes  morsels  of  hours 
and  gulps  days  in  two  bites. 

But  he  had  completed  five  stanzas.  He  con 
cluded  that  they  would  do,  though  he  had  planned 
on  five  more.  Glancing  over  the  composition,  he 
decided  that  it  might  be  better  to  leave  the  matter 
a  bit  vague,  just  as  the  poem  left  it  at  the  end  of 
the  fifth  stanza.  In  the  corridor  that  morning 
Vona  had  shown  that  too  much  precipitateness 
alarmed  her;  he  might  go  too  far  in  five  more 
stanzas.  The  five  he  had  completed  would  give 
her  a  hint — something  to  think  of.  He  pondered 
on  that  point  while  he  stuck  the  paper  into  an 
envelope  and  sealed  it. 

Mr.  Britt  hurried  the  rest  of  his  movements; 
Files's  kitchen  conveniences  were  archaic,  and  the 
guest  who  was  not  on  time  got  cold  viands. 

The  lover  who  had  begun  to  stir  Miss  Harnden's 
thoughts  into  rather  unpleasant  roiliness  of  doubts 
came  hustling  into  the  bank,  hat  and  coat  on. 

The  girl  and  young  Vaniman  were  spreading 
their  respective  lunches  on  the  center  table  inside 
the  grille. 

Britt  called  Vona  to  the  wicket.  He  slipped  the 
envelope  through  to  her.  "There's  no  hurry,  you 
understand!  Take  your  time.  Read  it  in  a  slack 

33 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

moment — later!  And" — he  hesitated  and  gulped 
— "I  want  to  see  you  after  bank  hours.  If  you'll 
step  in — I'll  be  much  obliged." 

She  did  not  assent  orally,  nor  show  especial  will 
ingness  to  respond  to  his  invitation.  She  took  the 
envelope  and  turned  toward  the  table  after  Britt 
had  left  the  wicket. 

She  walked  to  the  window  and  gazed  at  the 
retreating  back  of  Mr.  Britt,  and  put  the  envelope 
into  a  velvet  bag  that  was  attached  by  slender 
chains  to  her  girdle. 

When  she  faced  Vaniman,  the  young  cashier  was 
regarding  her  archly. 

"I  wonder  if  congratulations  are  in  order,"  he 
suggested. 

Her  quick  flush  was  followed  by  a  pallor  that 
gave  her  an  appearance  of  anger.  "I  don't  relish 
that  sort  of  humor." 

"My  gracious,  Vona,  I  wasn't  trying  to  be  espe 
cially  humorous,"  he  protested,  staring  at  her  so 
ingenuously  that  his  candor  could  not  be  questioned. 
"I  reckoned  that  the  boss  was  raising  your  pay, 
and  was  being  a  bit  sly  about  it!  What  else  can 
it  be?" 

Then  she  was  truly  disconcerted;  at  a  loss  for 
a  reply;  ashamed  of  her  display  of  emotion. 

He  stared  hard  at  her.  His  face  began  to  show 
that  he  was  struggling  with  an  emotion  of  his  own. 
"Vona,"  he  faltered,  after  a  time,  "I  haven't  any 

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right  to  ask  you — but  do  you  have  any — is  that 
paper — " 

He  was  unable  to  go  on  under  the  straight  and 
strange  gaze  she  leveled  at  him.  She  was  plainly 
one  who  was  taking  counsel  with  herself.  She 
came  to  a  sudden  decision,  and  drew  forth  the 
envelope  and  tore  it  open,  unfolded  the  paper,  and 
began  to  read. 

When  her  eyes  were  not  on  him  Vaniman  revealed 
much  of  what  a  discerning  person  would  have  known 
to  be  love;  love  that  had  been  pursuing  its  way 
quietly,  but  was  now  alarmed  and  up  in  arms. 
He  narrowed  his  eyes  and  studied  her  face  while 
she  read.  But  she  did  not  reveal  what  she  thought 
and  he  became  more  perturbed.  She  finished  and 
looked  across  at  him  and  then  she  narrowed  her 
eyes  to  match  his  expression.  Suddenly  she  leaned 
forward  and  gave  him  the  paper.  He  read  it, 
amazement  lifting  his  eyebrows. 

When  he  met  her  stare  again  they  were  moved 
by  a  common  impulse — mirth;  mirth  that  was 
born  out  of  their  mutual  amazement  and  was  bap 
tized  by  the  tears  that  their  merriment  squeezed 
from  their  eyes. 

"I  am  not  laughing  at  Tasper  Br'itt,"  he  gasped, 
checking  his  hilarity.  "I  would  not  laugh  at  any 
man  who  falls  in  love  with  you,  Von  a.  I  am  laughing 
at  the  idea  of  Tasper  Britt  writing  poetry.  Let 
me  look  out  of  the  window!  Has  Burkett  Hill 

35 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

tipped  over?     Has  the  sun  turned  in  the  heavens 
at  high  noon  and  started  back  to  the  east?" 

"What  does  it  mean?"  she  asked.  Her  expres 
sion  excused  the  banality  of  her  query;  her  eyes 
told  him  that  she  knew,  but  her  ears  awaited  his 
indorsement  of  her  woman's  conviction. 

He  pointed  to  the  big  calendar  on  the  wall.  "It's 
a  valentine,"  he  said,  gravely.  But  the  twinkle 
reappeared  in  his  eyes  when  he  added,  "And  val 
entines  have  always  been  used  for  prefaces  in  the 
volume  of  Love." 

She  did  not  reflect  any  of  his  amusement.  She 
clasped  her  han-ds  and  gazed  down  on  them,  and 
her  forehead  was  wrinkled  with  honest  distress. 

"Of  course,  you  have  sort  of  been  guessing,"  he 
ventured.  "All  the  renovating  process — the  way 
he  has  been  tiptoeing  around  and  squinting  at  you!" 

She  looked  up  suddenly  and  caught  his  gaze; 
his  tone  had  been  hard,  but  his  eyes  were  tender. 

Then  it  happened! 

They  had  been  hiding  their  deeper  feelings  under 
the  thin  coating  of  comradeship  for  a  long  time. 
As  in  the  instance  of  other  pent-up  explosives,  only 
the  right  kind  of  a  jar  was  needed  to  "trip"  the 
mass. 

The  threat  of  a  rival — even  of  such  a  prepos 
terous  rival  as  Tasper  Britt — served  as  detonator 
in  the  case  of  Frank  Vaniman,  and  the  explosion 
of  his  emotions  produced  sympathetic  results  in 

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the  girl  across  the  table  from  him.  He  leaped  up, 
strode  around  to  her  and  put  out  his  arms,  and  she 
rushed  into  the  embrace  he  offered. 

But  their  mutual  consolations  were  denied  them 
— he  was  obliged  to  dam  back  his  choking  speech 
and  she  her  blessed  tears. 

A  depositor  came  stamping  in. 

They  were  calm,  with  their  customary  check  on 
emotions,  when  they  were  free  to  talk  after  the  man 
had  gone  away. 

"Vona,  I  did  not  mean  to  speak  out  to  you  so 
soon,"  he  told  her.  "Not  but  what  it  was  in  here" — 
he  patted  his  breast — "and  fairly  boiling  all  the  time!" 

She  assured  him,  with  a  timid  look,  that  her  own 
emotions  had  not  been  different  from  his. 

"But  I  have  respected  your  obligations,"  he  went 
on,  with  earnest  candor.  "And  this  is  the  first 
real  job  I've  ever  had.  It's  best  to  be  honest  with 
each  other." 

She  agreed  fervently. 

"I  wish  we  could  be  just  as  honest  with  Britt. 
But  we  both  know  what  kind  of  a  man  he  is.  The 
sentiment  of  'Love,  and  the  world  well  lost'  is  better 
in  a  book  than  it  is  in  this  bank  just  now,  as  matters 
stand  with  us.  I  have  had  so  many  hard  knocks 
in  life  that  I  know  what  they  mean,  and  I  want  to 
save  you  from  them.  Isn't  it  best  to  go  along  as 
we  are  for  a  little  while,  till  I  can  see  my  way  to  get 
my  feet  placed  somewhere  else?" 

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When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"We  must  do  so,  Frank — for  the  time  being." 
Her  candor  matched  his.  "I  do  need  this  employ 
ment  for  the  sake  of  my  folks.  Both  of  us  must 
be  fair  to  ourselves — not  silly.  Only — " 

Her  forehead  wrinkled  again. 

"I  know,  Vona!  Britt's  attentions!  I'll  take 
it  on  myself — " 

"No,"  she  broke  in,  with  dignity.  "I  must 
make  that  my  own  affair.  It  can  be  easily  settled. 
It's  pure  folly  on  his  part.  I'll  make  him  under 
stand  it  when  I  talk  with  him  this  afternoon." 

"But  I'll  feel  like  a  coward,"  he  protested,  pas 
sionately. 

She  put  up  her  hand  and  smiled.  "You're  not 
a  coward,  dear!  Nor  am  I  a  hypocrite.  We're 
just  two  poor  toilers  who  must  do  the  best  we  can 
till  the  clouds  clear  away." 

She  went  to  him,  and  when  her  hands  caressed 
his  cheeks  he  bent  down  and  kissed  her. 

Then  they  applied  themselves  to  their  tasks  in 
Mr.  Britt's  bank. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   ACHE    OF   RAPPED    KNUCKLES 

T  ANDLORD  FILES  set  forth  a  boiled  dinner  that 
*-*  day;  he  skinched  on  corned  beef  and  made  up 
on  cabbage;  but  he  economized  on  fuel,  and  the 
cabbage  was  underdone. 

Mr.  Britt,  back  in  his  office,  allowing  his  various 
affairs  to  be  digested — his  dinner,  his  political  proj 
ect,  the  valentine — his  hopes  in  general — found  that 
soggy  cabbage  to  be  a  particularly  tough  proposition. 
He  was  not  sufficiently  imaginative  to  view  his 
punishment  by  the  intractable  cabbage  as  a  pre 
monitory  hint  that  he  was  destined  to  suffer  as  much 
in  his  pride  as  he  did  in  his  stomach.  His  pangs  took 
his  mind  off  the  other  affairs.  He  was  pallid  and  his 
lips  were  blue  when  Emissary  Orne  came  waddling 
into  the  office. 

Mr.  Orne,  in  addition  to  other  characteristics  that 
suggested  a  fowl,  had  a  sagging  dewlap,  and  the 
February  nip  had  colored  it  into  resemblance  to  a 
rooster's  wattles.  When  he  came  in  Mr.  Orne's  face 
was  sagging,  in  general.  It  was  a  countenance  that 
was  already  ridged  into  an  expression  of  sympathy. 
4  39 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

When  he  set  eyes  on  Britt  the  expression  of  woe  was 
touched  up  with  alarm.  But  that  the  alarm  had  to 
do  with  the  personal  affairs  of  Mr.  Orne  was  shown 
when  he  inquired  apprehensively  whether  Mr.  Britt 
would  settle  then  and  there  for  the  day's  work. 

The  candidate  looked  up  at  the  office  timepiece. 
"It  ain't  three  o'clock.  I  don't  call  it  a  day." 

"You  call  it  a  day  in  banking.  I've  got  the  same 
right  to  call  it  a  day  in  politics." 

"What  infernal  notion  is  afoul  of  you,  Orne, 
grabbing  for  my  money  before  you  report?" 

"I  do  business  with  a  man  according  to  his  own 
rules — and  then  he's  suited,  or  ought  to  be.  You  col 
lect  sharp  on  the  dot  after  service  has  been  rendered. 
So  do  I."  Mr.  Orne  was  displaying  more  acute  ner 
vous  apprehension.  "And  the  understanding  was 
that  you'd  leave  it  to  me  as  your  manager,  and 
wouldn't  go  banging  around,  yourself." 

Britt  found  the  agent's  manner  puzzling.  "I 
haven't  been  out  of  this  office,  except  to  go  to  my 
dinner.  I  haven't  talked  politics  with  anybody." 

"Oh!"  remarked  Orne,  showing  relief.  "Perhaps, 
then,  it  was  the  way  the  light  fell  on  your  face." 
He  peered  closely  at  his  client.  Mr.  Britt's  color  was 
coming  back.  Orne's  cryptic  speeches  and  his  haste 
to  collect  had  warmed  the  banker's  wrath.  "It'll 
be  ten  dollars,  as  we  agreed." 

Britt  yanked  a  big  wallet  from  his  breast  pocket, 
plucked  out  a  bill,  and  shoved  it  at  Orne.  The 

40 


The  Ache  oj  Rapped  Knuckles 

latter  set  the  bill  carefully  into  a  big  wallet  of  his 
own,  "sunk"  the  calfskin,  and  buttoned  up  his 
buffalo  coat. 

"It  does  beat  blazes,"  stated  "Sniffer"  Orne, 
"what  a  messed  up  state  all  politics  is  in  since  this 
prim'ry  business  has  put  the  blinko  onto  caucuses 
and  conventions.  Caucuses  was  sensible,  Mr.  Britt. 
Needn't  tell  me!  Voters  liked  to  have  the  wear  and 
tear  ofF'm  'em.  Now  a  voter  gets  into  that  booth 
and  has  to  caucus  by  himself,  and  he's  either  so 
puffed  up  by  importance  that  he  thinks  he's  the 
whole  party  or  else — " 

Mr.  Britt's  patience  was  ground  between  the 
millstones  of  anger  and  indigestion.  He  smacked  the 
flat  of  his  hand  on  his  desk.  "When  I  want  a  stump 
speech  out  of  you,  Orne,  I'll  drop  you  a  postcard  and 
give  you  thirty  days'  notice  so  that  you  can  get  up  a 
good  one.  You  have  made  a  short  day  of  it,  as  I 
said,  but  you  needn't  feel  called  on  to  fill  it  up  with 
a  lecture."  Mr.  Britt  continued  on  pompously  and 
revealed  that  he  placed  his  own  favorable  construc 
tion  on  the  emissary's  early  return  from  the  field. 
"You  didn't  have  to  go  very  far,  hey,  to  find  out  how 
I  stand  for  that  nomination?" 

"I  went  far  enough  so  that  you  can  depend  on 
what  I  tell  you." 

"Go  ahead  and  tell,  then." 

Mr.  Orne  slowly  fished  a  quill  toothpick  from  the 
pocket  of  his  overcoat,  set  the  end  of  the  quill  in 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

his  mouth,  and  "sipped"  the  air  sibilantly,  gazing 
over  Britt's  head  with  professional  gravity.  "Of 
course,  you're  the  doctor  in  this  case  and  are  paying 
the  money,  and  if  you  don't  want  any  soothing 
facts,  like  I  was  intending  to  throw  in  free  of  charge 
and  for  good  measure,  showing  how  the  best  of 
politicians — " 

There  were  ominous  sounds  from  the  direction  of 
Britt.  Orne  checked  his  discourse,  but  he  did  not 
look  at  the  candidate.  "But  no  matter,"  said  the 
agent.  "That  may  be  neither  here  nor  there. 
You're  the  doctor,  I  say!  When  I  first  came  in  here 
I  thought  you  had  been  disobeying  my  orders  and 
had  dabbled  into  the  thing.  Your  face  looked  like 
you  was  posted." 

"I'm  paying  for  the  goods,  not  for  gobbling,  you 
infernal  old  turkey!  Come  out  with  the  facts!" 

"Facts  is  that  the  whole  thing  is  completely  gooly- 
washed  up,"  stated  Mr.  Orne,  with  an  oracle's 
decisiveness. 

But  that  declaration  in  Mr.  Orne's  political  termin 
ology  did  not  convey  much  information  to  the  candi 
date.  Britt,  thoroughly  incensed  by  what  seemed  to 
be  evasion,  leaped  up,  twitched  the  toothpick  from 
Orne's  lips,  and  flung  it  away.  "I've  paid  for  the 
English  language,  and  I  want  it  straight  and  in  short 
words,  and  not  trigged  by  a  toothpick." 

"All  right!    You're  licked  before  you  start." 

It  was  a  bit  too  straight  from  the  shoulder — that 

42 


The  Ache  oj  Rapped  Knuckles 

piece  of  news!  Britt  blinked  as  if  he  had  received  a 
blow  between  the  eyes.  He  sat  down  and  stared  at 
Orne,  elbows  on  the  arms  of  the  chair,  hands  limply 
hanging  from  lax  wrists. 

"It's  this  way!"  Mr.  Orne  started,  briskly,  with 
upraised  forefinger;  but  he  shook  his  head  and  put 
down  his  hand.  He  turned  away.  "I  forgot.  You 
ordered  plain  facts." 

"You  hold  on!"  Britt  thundered.  "How  do  you 
dare  to  tell  me  that  you  can  go  out  and  in  fifteen 
minutes  come  back  with  information  of  that  sort?" 

Mr.  Orne  glanced  reproachfully  from  his  detractor 
to  the  clock;  he  had  not  the  same  reasons  as  Mr. 
Britt  had  for  finding  the  hours  of  that  day  fleeting. 
"Mr.  Britt,  a  man  doesn't  need  to  make  a  hoss  of 
himself  and  eat  a  whole  head  of  cabbage  by  way  of 
sampling  it."  Britt  winced  at  the  random  simile. 
"It's  the  same  way  with  me  in  sampling  politics, 
being  an  expert.  Your  case,  to  start  with,  had  me 
gy-poogled  and — " 

"English  language,  I  tell  you!"  Britt  emphasized 
his  stand  as  a  stickler  by  a  tremendous  thump  of  his 
fist  on  the  desk. 

Orne  jabbed  his  finger  back  and  forth  from  his 
breast  to  the  direction  of  Britt,  with  the  motions  of 
the  "eeny,  meeny"  game.  "I  was  mistook.  You 
was  mistook.  I  figgered  on  your  money.  So  did 
you.  I  figgered  you'd  go  strong  in  politics  like  you 
had  in  finance.  So  did  you."  Mr.  Orne  put  his  hand 

43 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

up  sidewise  and  sliced  the  air.  "Nothing  doing  in 
politics,  Mr.  Britt!  You  can  cash  in  on  straight 
capital,  but  there  ain't  a  cent  in  the  dollar  for  you 
when  you  try  to  collect  in  what  you  'ain't  ever  in 
vested.  A  man  don't  have  to  be  so  blamed  popular 
after  he  is  well  settled  in  politics;  but  you've  got  to 
have  some  real  human-nature  assets  to  get  a  start 
with.  You've  got  to  depend  on  given  votes — not  the 
boughten  ones." 

"Orne,  you're  rasping  me  mighty  hard." 

"You  demanded  facts — not  hair-oil  talk." 

"Then  the  facts  are — "  Britt  hesitated. 

"Facts  is  that,  by  the  usual  arrangement  in  this 
legislative  class  of  towns,  Egypt  has  the  choice  this 
year.  You  won't  get  a  vote  in  Egypt." 

"But  the  men  who  come  in  here — "  Again  Britt 
halted  in  a  sentence. 

"The  men  who  come  in  here  and  sit  down  at  that 
desk  and  pick  up  a  pen  to  sign  a  note  have  fixed  on 
their  grins  before  they  open  your  door.  But  the 
men  who  get  into  a  voting  booth  alone  with  God  and 
a  lead  pencil,  they'll  jab  down  on  to  that  ballot  a 
cross  for  t'other  candidate  that  '11  look  like  a  dent  in 
a  tin  dipper.  Somebody  else  might  lie  to  you  about 
the  situation,  Mr.  Britt.  I've  done  consid'able  lying 
in  politics,  too.  But  when  I'm  hired  by  a  man  to  de 
liver  goods — and  same  has  been  paid  for — my  word 
can  be  depended  on." 

Britt  turned  around  and  looked  into  the  depths  of 

44 


The  Ache  of  Rapped  Knuckles 

his  desk,  staring  vacantly.  His  rounded  shoulders 
suggested  grief.  Orne  settled  his  wallet  more  firmly, 
pressing  on  the  outside  of  the  buffalo  coat.  His  face 
again  sagged  with  sympathy.  ''Mr.  Britt,  it's  only 
like  what  most  of  us  do  in  this  life — take  smiles  with 
out  testing  'em  with  acid — take  words-current  for 
what  they  seem  to  be  worth,  and  then  we  do  test  'em 
out  and— 

Britt  whirled  and  broke  on  this  fatuous  preach 
ment  with  an  oath.  Mr.  Orne  thriftily  withheld 
further  sympathy;  it  was  plainly  wasted. 

"Orne,  I  hope  it's  about  due  to  revise  the  New 
Testament  again.  I  want  to  send  in  some  footnotes 
for  that  page  where  Judas  Iscariot  is  mentioned.  I 
want  a  full  roster  of  his  descendants  to  appear;  I'll 
furnish  the  voting  list  of  this  town.  Get  out  of  here 
and  pass  that  word." 

But  a  yelp  from  the  candidate  halted  the  departing 
Orne  at  the  door.  "Seeing  that  you  have  my  ten 
dollars  and  are  full  of  political  information,  perhaps 
you'll  throw  in  free  of  charge  who  it  is  this  town  is 
going  to  send  to  the  legislature!" 

"Only  one  thing  has  been  decided  on  so  far,"  re 
turned  the  politician.  "And,  having  no  desire  to 
rub  it  in,  I'll  let  you  draw  your  own  conclusions." 
Mr.  Orne  had  the  door  open;  he  dodged  out  and 
slammed  the  door  shut. 

It  was  promptly  opened — so  promptly  that  Mr. 
Britt  was  fairly  caught  at  what  he  was  about.  He 

45 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

was  standing  up,  shaking  both  fists  at  the  door  and 
cursing  roundly.  Vona  was  gazing  at  him  in  alarm. 

"I  was  waiting  in  the  corridor,  sir,  till  you — till 
your  business — till  Mr.  Orne  went  away,"  she 
stammered. 

"Come  in!"  muttered  Britt,  even  more  discon 
certed  than  the  girl. 

Then  he  wished  that  he  had  told  her  to  go  away. 
He  realized  that  he  was  in  no  mood  or  condition  to 
woo;  the  cabbage  had  tortured  him,  but  this  new 
sort  of  indigestion  in  the  very  soul  of  him  had  left 
him  without  poise  or  courage. 

He  slumped  down  in  his  chair  and  waved  a  limp 
hand  in  invitation  for  her  to  take  a  seat  near  him. 
But  she  merely  came  and  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room  and  surveyed  him  with  an  uncompromising  air 
of  business.  From  the  velvet  toque,  with  just  a  sug 
gestion  of  a  coquettish  cant  on  her  brown  curls,  down 
her  healthily  round  cheeks,  a  bit  flushed,  above  the 
fur  neckpiece  that  clasped  her  throat,  Britt's  fervent 
eyes  strayed.  And  some  of  the  words  of  the  Proph 
et's  singsong  monotone  echoed  in  the  empty  cham 
bers  of  Britt's  consciousness,  "'Thou  hast  dove's 
eyes  within  thy  locks — thy  lips  are  like  a  thread  of 
scarlet."1 

But  she  was  aloof.  She  held  herself  rigidly  erect. 
Her  eyes  were  coldly  inquiring.  Those  lips  were  set 
tightly.  Mr.  Britt  had  just  been  reaching  out  for 
honors,  and  his  knuckles  had  been  rapped  cruelly. 

46 


The  Ache  oj  Rapped  Knuckles 

He  wanted  to  reach  out  for  love — and  he  dared  not. 
The  girl,  as  she  stood  there,  was  so  patently  among 
the  things  he  was  not  able  to  possess! 

She  had  come  into  his  presence  with  expectation 
keenly  alert,  with  her  fears  putting  her  into  a  mental 
posture  of  defense.  She  felt  that  she  knew  just  what 
was  going  to  happen,  and  she  was  assuring  herself 
that  she  would  be  able  to  meet  the  situation.  But 
she  was  not  prepared  for  what  did  happen.  She  did 
not  understand  Britt's  mental  state  of  that  moment. 
Mr.  Britt,  himself,  did  not  understand.  He  had 
never  been  up  against  conditions  of  that  sort.  He 
had  not  had  time  to  fix  his  face  and  his  mood,  as  he 
did  daily  before  the  mirror  in  his  bedroom.  He  did 
what  nobody  had  ever  seen  him  do — what  neither  he 
nor  the  girl  would  have  predicted  one  minute  before 
as  among  human  probabilities — he  broke  down  and 
blubbered  like  a  whipped  urchin. 

And  after  he  had  recovered  some  of  his  composure 
and  was  gazing  up  at  her  again,  sniffling  and  scrub 
bing  his  reddened  eyes  with  the  bulge  at  the  base  of 
his  thumb,  knowing  that  he  must  say  something  by 
way  of  legitimate  excuse,  dreading  the  ridicule  that 
a  girl's  gossip  might  bring  upon  him,  a  notion  that 
was  characteristic  of  Mr.  Britt  came  to  him:  he 
grimly  weighed  the  idea  of  telling  her  that  Files's 
boiled  dinner  was  the  cause  of  this  breakdown. 
However,  in  his  weakness,  his  love  flamed  more 
hotly  than  ever  before. 

47 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"Vona,  I'm  so  lonesome!"  he  gulped. 

Miss  Harnden  had  entered  behind  her  shield, 
nerved  like  a  battling  Amazon.  She  promptly  low 
ered  that  shield  and  became  all  woman,  with  a 
woman's  instinctive  sympathetic  understanding; 
but,  womanlike,  she  took  the  opportunity  to  intro 
duce  for  her  own  defense  a  bit  of  guile  with  her  sym 
pathy.  "I  quite  understand  how  you  feel  about  the 
loss  of  Mrs.  Britt,  sir.  And  I'm  glad  because  you 
remain  so  loyal  to  her  memory." 

Mr.  Britt,  like  a  man  who  had  received  a  dipperful 
of  cold  water  in  the  face,  backed  away  from  any 
thing  like  a  proposal  at  that  unpropitious  moment. 
But  in  all  his  arid  nature  he  felt  the  need  of  some 
sort  of  consolation  from  a  feminine  source.  "Vona, 
I've  just  had  a  terrible  setback,"  he  mourned. 
"There's  only  one  other  disappointment  that  could 
be  any  worse — and  I  don't  dare  to  think  of  that 
right  now." 

Miss  Harnden  apprehensively  proceeded  to  keep 
him  away  from  the  prospective  disappointment, 
dwelling  on  the  present,  asking  him  solicitously  what 
had  happened. 

He  told  her  of  his  ambition  and  of  what  Ossian 
Orne  had  reported. 

"But  why  should  that  be  so  very  important  for  a 
man  like  you — to  go  to  the  legislature — Mr.  Britt?" 

He  opened  his  mouth,  hankering  to  blurt  out  what 
he  had  been  treasuring  as  dreams  whose  realization 

48 


The  Ache  oj  Rapped  Knuckles 

would  serve  as  an  inducement  to  her.  He  had  been 
picturing  to  himself  their  honeymoon  at  the  state 
capital,  away  from  the  captious  tongues  of  Egypt — 
how  he  would  stalk  with  his  handsome  bride  into  the 
dining  room  of  the  capital's  biggest  hotel;  how  she 
would  attract  the  eyes  of  jealous  men,  in  her  finery 
and  with  her  jewels;  how  she  would  sit  in  the  gallery 
at  the  State  House  and  survey  him  making  his  big 
ness  among  the  lawmakers;  for  some  weeks  he  had 
been  laboring  on  the  composition  of  a  speech  that 
he  intended  to  deliver.  But  her  second  dash  of  cold 
water  kept  him  from  disclosure  of  his  feelings.  He 
went  only  so  far  as  to  ask  her  if  she  did  not  think  a 
session  at  the  state  capital  would  be  interesting. 

"I  have  never  thought  anything  about  such  a 
matter,  of  course,  Mr.  Britt,  being  only  a  girl  and 
not  a  politician." 

"But  women  who  are  there  get  into  high  society 
and  wear  fine  clothes  and  have  a  grand  time,  Vona." 

"It  must  be  a  tedious  life,"  she  replied,  in 
differently. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  try  it?"  Now  that  he  could 
not  offer  her  the  grand  inducement  he  had  planned 
as  an  essential  part  of  his  campaign  of  love,  he 
sought  consolation  in  her  assurance  that  the  prospect 
did  not  tempt  her.  His  hopes  revived.  He  was  re 
flecting  that  his  money  could  buy  railroad  tickets, 
even  if  he  had  not  the  popularity  with  which  to  win 
votes.  She  shook  her  head  promptly  when  he  asked 

49 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

the  question,  and  he  went  on  with  his  new  idea.  "I 
suppose  what  a  girl  really  enjoys  is  to  see  the  world, 
after  she  has  been  penned  up  all  her  life  in  a  town 
like  this." 

"I  don't  waste  my  time  in  foolish  longings,  Mr. 
Britt.  In  fact,  I  have  no  time  to  waste  on  anything." 
She  gave  him  a  bit  of  a  smile.  "In  that  connection 
I'll  confess  that  I  must  hurry  home  and  help  mother 
with  some  sewing.  Did  you  want  anything  especial 
of  me?"  Her  smile  had  vanished,  and  in  her  tone 
there  was  a  clink  of  the  metallic  that  was  as  subtly 
suggestive  of  "On  guard"  as  the  click  of  a  trigger. 

Mr.  Britt  had  planned  upon  a  radiant  disclosing 
of  his  projects — expecting  to  be  spurred  in  his  ad 
vances  by  the  assurance  of  what  he  could  offer  her 
as  the  consort  of  a  legislator — as  high  an  honor  as 
his  narrow  vision  could  compass.  She  had  found  him 
cursing,  had  kept  him  at  bay,  and  he  had  already 
had  evidence  of  the  danger  of  precipitateness  in  her 
case.  And  his  tears  made  him  feel  foolish.  His  ardor 
had  been  wet  down;  it  took  a  back  seat.  His  natural 
good  judgment  was  again  boss  of  the  situation. 

"I  had  something  on  my  mind — but  it  can  wait 
till  you're  in  less  of  a  hurry,  Vona.  Never  neglect  a 
mother.  That's  my  attitude  toward  women.  I'm 
always  considerate  where  they're  concerned.  It's 
my  nature.  I  hope  you'll  hold  that  in  mind." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Britt."  She  turned  and  hurried  to  the 
door,  getting  away  from  a  fire  that  was  showing 


The  Ache  of  Rapped  Knuckles 

signs  of  breaking  out  of  its  smoldering  brands  once 
more. 

Britt  recovered  some  of  his  courage  when  her  back 
was  turned.  "You  haven't  said  anything  about 
those  verses,"  he  stammered. 

"I  think  it's  a  beautiful  way  of  putting  aside  your 
business  cares  for  a  time.  I'm  taking  them  home  to 
read  to  mother." 

He  marched  to  the  window  and  watched  her  as 
long  as  she  was  in  sight. 

Then  he  glowered  on  such  of  the  Egyptians  as 
passed  to  and  fro  along  the  street  on  their  affairs. 
He  muttered,  spicing  his  comments  with  profanity. 
The  girl's  disclaimer  of  personal  interest  in  Britt's 
ambitions  did  not  soften  his  rancorous  determination 
to  make  the  voters  of  Egypt  suffer  for  the  stand  they 
had  taken — suffer  to  the  bitter  limit  to  which  un 
relenting  persecution  could  drive  them.  He  gritted 
his  teeth  and  raved  aloud.  "From  now  on!  From 
now  on!  -Anything  short  of  murder  to  show  'em! 
And  as  for  that  girl — if  there's  somebody — •" 

Britt  stopped  short  of  what  that  rival  might  ex 
pect,  but  his  expression  indicated  that  the  matter 
was  of  even  more  moment  than  his  affair  with  the 
voters  of  the  town. 


CHAPTER  V 


"AND  PHARAOH'S  HEART  WAS  HARDENED' 


WHEN  Vona  left  him  that  afternoon,  Vaniman 
paced  the  floor. 

She  had  gone  bravely  to  her  meeting  with  Britt, 
bearing  Frank's  kiss  on  her  cheek — a  caress  of  en 
couragement  when  he  had  walked  with  her  to  the 
door  in  order  to  lock  it  after  her. 

It  was  not  worry  that  caused  him  to  tramp  to 
and  fro,  frowning.  Vona's  demeanor  of  self-reliance 
had  helped  his  feelings  a  great  deal.  But  the  corol 
lary  of  devoted  love  is  chivalry,  and  he  felt  that  he 
was  allowing  her  to  do  something  that  belonged  to 
him  to  do,  somehow.  The  policy  which  they  had  so 
sanely  discussed  did  not  seem  to  be  such  a  com 
fortable  course  when  he  was  alone,  wondering  what 
was  going  on  across  the  corridor. 

At  last  the  sound  of  a  door  and  the  click  of  her 
heels  signaled  the  end  of  the  interview.  He  hoped 
that  she  would 'come  back  into  the  bank,  making  an 
excuse  of  something  forgotten,  in  order  to  give  him 
a  soothing  bulletin.  He  ran  to  the  door  and  opened 
it.  But  the  slam  of  the  outside  door  informed  him 

52 


"And  Pharaoh's  Heart  Was  Hardened" 

that"she  had  gone  on  her  way.  Her  prompt  departure 
indicated  that  she  was  consistently  pursuing  the 
level-headed  policy  they  had  adopted;  but  the  young 
man,  impatient  and  wondering,  was  wishing  she  had 
taken  a  chance,  for  once,  even  to  the  prejudice  of 
policy.  He  shut  his  door  and  hurried  to  the  window. 

Though  two  men  were  watching  her  going-away, 
and  though  she  must  have  been  conscious  of  the  fact, 
she  did  not  turn  her  head  to  glance  behind  her. 

At  any  rate,  the  thing  was  over,  whatever  had 
happened,  the  cashier  reflected  with  relief.  Never 
theless,  curiosity  was  nagging  at  him;  he  felt  an  im 
pulse  to  go  in  and  inspect  the  condition  of  Tasper 
Britt  by  way  of  securing  a  hint. 

Vaniman,  however,  shook  his  head  and  dropped 
into  the  routine  of  his  duties.  The  ruts  of  life  in 
Egypt,  especially  in  the  winter,  were  deep  ones. 
The  cashier  had  become  contented  with  his  little 
circle  of  occupation  and  recreation. 

He  carried  the  books  into  the  vault.  He  wound 
the  clock  which  controlled  the  mechanism  of  bolts 
and  bars,  and  pushed  the  big  outer  door  shut  and 
made  certain  that  it  was  secure. 

Having  finished  as  cashier,  he  became  janitor. 

Egypt  had  no  electric  lights.  Vaniman  trimmed 
the  kerosene  reflector  lamp  and  set  it  on  the  table 
so  that  the  front  of  the  safe  would  be  illuminated  for 
the  benefit  of  the  village's  night  watchman. 

Then  he  put  on  his  cap  and  overcoat  and  locked 

53 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

the'grille  door  and  the  bank  door  after  he  had  passed 
each  portal.  His  last  chore  of  the  day  was  always  a 
trip  into  the  basement  to  make  sure  that  the  dying 
fire  in  the  wood  furnace  was  carefully  closed  in  for 
the  night. 

The  basement  stairs  led  from  the  rear  of  the  corri 
dor.  When  Vaniman  returned  up  the  stairs  he  had 
settled  on  a  small  matter  of  business  which  would 
serve  as  a  valid  excuse  for  entering  the  presence  of 
President  Britt.  But  he  did  not  need  to  employ  the 
excuse.  Britt  stood  in  his  open  door  and  called  to  the 
cashier  and  walked  back  to  his  chair,  leaving  Vani 
man  to  follow,  and  the  employee  obeyed  the  summons 
with  alacrity;  he  was  consumed  with  desire  to  get  a 
line  on  the  situation  that  had  been  troubling  him. 

An  observer  would  have  called  the  contest  of  mu 
tual  inspection  a  fifty-fifty  break — perhaps  with  a 
shade  in  favor  of  Britt,  for  the  usurer's  face  was  like 
leather  and  his  goggling  marbles  of  eyes  under  the 
lids  that  resembled  little  tents  did  not  flicker. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?"  Britt  demanded,  and 
the  query  made  for  the  young  man's  discomposure. 

"Why,  you  called  me  in,  sir!" 

"Uh-huh!"  the  president  admitted,  "but  some 
how  I  had  the  impression  that  you  said  you  wanted 
to  see  me  after  the  bank  closed."  He  was  taking 
account  of  stock  of  Vaniman's  personality,  his  eyes 
going  up  and  down  the  stalwart  figure  and  dwelling 
finally  and  persistently  on  the  young  man's  hair;  it 

54 


"And  Pharaoh's  Heart  Was  Hardened" 

wzis  copper-bronze  in  hue,  it  had  an  attractive  wave, 
there  was  plenty  of  it,  and  it  seemed  to  be  very 
firmly  rooted. 

"I  don't  remember  that  I  mentioned  it,  Mr.  Britt, 
but  I  do  have  an  errand  with  you." 

"All  right!  What  is  it?"  Mr.  Britt  was  not  re 
vealing  any  emotions  that  Vaniman  found  illuminat 
ing  in  regard  to  his  particular  quest. 

"I  am  being  tongue-lashed  terribly  through  the 
wicket.  Men  won't  believe  that  I'm  obeying  the 
orders  of  you  and  the  board  when  accommodation  is 
refused.  Won't  you  take  that  matter  off  my  hands — 
let  me  refer  all  to  you?" 

''I  don't  keep  a  dog  and  do  my  own  barking," 
rasped  the  president.  He  brought  his  eyes  down 
from  the  young  man's  hair  and  noted  that  Vaniman 
stiffened  and  was  displaying  resentment. 

"That's  only  a  Yankee  motto — you  needn't  take 
it  as  personal,  Vaniman.  I  have  turned  over  to  you 
the  running  of  the  bank.  I  say  to  all  that  you're 
running  it.  You  ought  to  feel  pretty  well  set  up!" 

"I  obey  your  orders,  sir,"  returned  the  cashier,  not 
warming. 

"That's  all  right  for  an  understanding  between  us 
two.  But  I  let  the  public  think  you're  the  whole 
thing.  I  tell  'em  I've  got  full  confidence  in  you. 
You  don't  want  the  public  to  think  you're  only  a 
rubber  stamp,  do  you?" 

"The  general  opinion  right  now  seems  to  be  that 
5  55 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

I'm  either  a  first-class  liar  or  Shylock  sentenced  to  a 
second  term  on  earth,"  retorted  Vaniman,  with 
bitterness. 

There  was  a  long  silence  in  the  room,  where  the 
early  dusk  was  deepening.  The  two  men  regarded 
each  other  with  expressions  that  did  not  soften. 

After  a  time  Britt  turned  to  his  desk,  unlocked  a 
compartment,  and  produced  a  letter,  which  he  un 
folded  slowly,  again  staring  hard  at  the  cashier. 

"Speaking  of  being  sentenced!"  There  was 
something  ominous  in  his  drawl.  "You  told  me  a 
whole  lot  about  yourself,  Vaniman,  when  I  was 
talking  of  hiring  you.  But  there  was  one  important 
thing  you  didn't  mention — mighty  important,  seeing 
that  you  wanted  a  job  as  boss  of  a  bank."  He 
tapped  the  open  letter.  "I've  had  this  letter  for  a 
good  many  weeks,  not  saying  anything  about  it  to 
you  or  anybody  else.  I'm  not  sure  just  why  I'm 
saying  anything  now.*' 

Vaniman  flushed.  His  face  worked  with  emotion. 
He  put  up  his  hand  and  started  to  speak,  but  Britt 
put  up  a  more  compelling  hand  and  went  on.  "I 
reckon  I'm  bringing  this  matter  up  so  that  you'll 
know  just  where  you  stand — so  that  you'll  mind  your 
eye  and  look  out  for  my  interests  in  every  way  from 
now  on — so  that — "  He  hesitated  a  moment.  His 
eyes  flamed.  "So  that  you'll  know  your  place! 
That's  it!  Know  your  place — and  be  mighty  careful 
how  you  go  against  me  in  anything — anything  where 

56 


"And  Pharaoh's  Heart  Was  Hardened" 

I'm  interested."  Britt  had  whipped  himself  into 
anger.  That  anger,  fanned  by  a  flame  of  jealousy 
after  it  had  been  touched  off  by  his  inspection  of 
youth  and  good  looks,  had  carried  Mr.  Britt  far. 
He  shook  the  letter  at  the  young  man.  "There's  a 
reliable  name  signed  to  this  letter;  he  is  a  friend  of 
mine,  one  of  the  big  financiers  in  the  city,  and  this 
was  in  the  way  of  friendly  warning." 

"I  understand,  Mr.  Britt."  The  cashier  had  re 
covered  his  self-possession.  "You  are  warned  that 
my  father  was  sentenced  to  the  penitentiary  for  em 
bezzlement.  No,  I  did  not  mention  that  to  you.  It 
concerned  a  man  who  is  dead.  It  has  nothing  to  do 
with  my  honesty." 

"Well,  there's  another  motto  about  'blood  will 
tell,'"  sneered  Britt. 

Vaniman  stepped  forward,  honestly  indignant, 
manfully  resolute.  "Let  me  tell  you,  sir,  that  the 
letter  you  hold  there — no  matter  who  wrote  it — 
concerns  a  good  man  who  is  dead.  He  was  the  scape 
goat  of  one  of  those  big  financiers."  Vaniman's  lip 
curled.  "My  father  was  railroaded  to  jail  on  a  track 
greased  with  lies — and  died  because  the  heart  had 
been  ripped  out  of  him  and — " 

"Hold  on!  It  won't  get  us  anywhere  to  try  that 
case  all  over,  Vaniman.  Let  the  letter  stand  as  it  is 
— it  was  probably  meant  in  the  right  spirit.  But  I 
didn't  write  it.  You  and  I  better  not  fight  over  it. 
I've  shown,  by  laying  it  away  and  saying  nothing, 

57 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

that  I  have  a  decent  nature  in  me.  I  hope  I'll  never 
have  any  need  to  take  it  out  of  this  desk  again." 
He  turned  and  shoved  the  paper  back  and  locked 
the  compartment. 

"I  think  it  is  best  for  me  to  resign,  Mr.  Britt." 
"Don't  be  a  fool,  young  man.  Now  that  this 
thing  is  off  our  minds  there's  a  better  understanding 
between  us  than  ever.  I  don't  think — I  hope" — he 
surveyed  Vaniman  with  leisure  in  which  there  was 
the  suggestion  of  a  threat — "I'll  never  have  any 
occasion  to  take  that  letter  out  again.  Er — ah — " 
Britt  joggled  a  watch  charm  and  inquired,  casually, 
"Would  you  plan  on  getting  married  if  I  boost  your 
wages  a  little?" 

In  spite  of  an  effort  to  control  himself  under 
Britt's  basilisk  stare,  Vaniman  showed  how  much 
the  query  had  jumped  him. 

"Of  course,  a  chap  like  you  has  had  his  sweetheart 
down  in  the  city,"  pursued  the  inquisitor  when  the 
young  man  failed  to  answer.  "Must  be  one  there 
now." 

"I  have  no  sweetheart  in  the  city,  Mr.  Britt." 
Then  there  was  a  longer  silence  in  the  room.  The 
cashier  was  not  enduring  inspection  with  an  air  that 
did  credit  to  his  promise  to  keep  a  secret.  Britt 
had  made  a  breach  in  the  wall  of  Vaniman's  mental 
defense  by  the  means  of  that  letter  and  its  implied 
accusation;  Britt  was  taking  advantage  of  that 
breach.  Right  then  the  young  man  was  in  a  mood 

58 


"And  Pharaoh's  Heart  Was  Hardened" 

that  would  have  prompted  him  to  fling  the  truth  and 
his  defiance  at  Britt  if  the  latter  had  kept  on  to  the 
logical  conclusion  of  his  interrogation  and  had  asked 
whether  there  was  a  sweetheart  elsewhere;  Vaniman 
had  the  feeling  that  by  denying  his  love  at  that  mo 
ment — to  that  man  of  all  others — he  would  be  dealing 
insult  to  Vona  Harnden,  as  well  as  taking  from  her 
the  protection  that  his  affection  gave  her. 

The  attention  of  Britt  was  diverted  from  the 
quarry  he  was  pursuing. 

Outside  Britt  Block,  Prophet  Elias  raised  his  voice 
in  his  regular  "vesper  service."  It  was  his  practice, 
on  his  way  to  Usial  Britt's  cottage  from  his  daily 
domiciliary  visits,  to  halt  in  front  of  the  bank  and 
deliver  a  few  texts.  The  first  one — and  the  two  men 
in  the  office  listened — was  of  the  general  tenor  of 
those  addressed  to  "Pharaoh."  Said  the  Prophet,  in 
resounding  tones,  "'As  a  roaring  lion  and  a  ranging 
bear,  so  is  a  wicked  ruler  over  the  poor  people.'" 

"Vaniman,  go  out  and  tell  that  old  hoot  owl  to 
move  on !  I'm  in  a  dangerous  frame  of  mind  to-day." 
Britt's  lips  were  pulled  tightly  against  his  yellow 
teeth. 

The  Prophet's  next  deliverance  was  more  con 
cretely  to  the  point — indicating  that  the  exhorter 
was  not  so  much  wrapped  up  in  religion  that  he  had 
no  ear  out  for  the  political  news  current  in  Egypt 
that  day,  "'Pride  goeth  before  destruction,  and  an 
haughty  spirit  before  a  fall/" 

59 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

There  was  a  fireplace  in  the  office  and  Britt  leaped 
to  it  and  grabbed  a  poker.  The  cashier  was  moved 
to  interfere,  urged  by  two  compelling  motives.  He 
wanted  to  get  away  from  his  own  dangerous  situa 
tion  of  the  moment  in  that  office — and  he  wanted  to 
protect  the  old  man  outside  from  assault.  "I'll 
attend  to  him,  sir!"  But  he  halted  at  the  door  and 
turned.  "Mr.  Britt,  our  talk  has  driven  an  im 
portant  matter  from  my  mind.  The  men  who  bel 
low  at  me  through  the  wicket  have  considerable  to 
say  about  our  hoarding  specie.  It  makes  me  uneasy 
to  have  that  sort  of  gossip  going  the  rounds." 

"We'll  have  the  money  out  of  here  in  a  short 
time,  Vaniman,  as  I  have  told  you.  That  broker 
says  that  foreign  money  is  going  lower  yet — and 
seeing  that  we've  taken  all  this  trouble  to  get  the 
hard  cash  ready  for  the  deal,  we  may  as  well  make 
the  clean-up  as  big  as  we  can." 

"Don't  you  think  we'd  better  hire  a  couple  of 
good  men  with  rifles  and  put  'em  in  the  bank  nights, 
sir?" 

President  Britt  declared  with  scorn  that  the  ex 
pense  was  not  necessary,  that  putting  guards  in  the 
bank  would  only  start  more  talk,  and  that  it  also 
would  be  essential  to  hire  old  Ike  Jones  to  sit  in 
front  of  the  vault  and  play  all  night  on  his  trombone 
to  keep  awake  any  two  men  picked  from  Egypt. 
While  Britt  was  expressing  his  opinion  of  inefficiency 
and  expense,  the  Prophet  was  furnishing  this  obbli- 

60 


"And  Pharaoh's  Heart  Was  Hardened'' 

gato  outside,  "'He  that  by  usury  and  unjust  gain  in- 
creaseth  his  substance,  he  shall  gather  it  for  him 
that  will  pity  the  poor.": 

Vaniman  closed  the  door  on  Britt's  objurgations. 

The  young  man  did  not  find  it  necessary  to  pre 
vail  upon  the  Prophet  to  give  over  his  discourse. 
As  soon  as  the  emissary  appeared  Elias  folded  his 
ample  umbrella,  tucked  it  under  his  arm,  gave  Vani 
man  a  friendly  greeting,  and  winked  at  him.  The 
twilight  dimmed  the  seamed  face  and  the  young 
man  wondered  whether  he  had  been  mistaken  about 
the  sly  suggestiveness  of  that  wink. 

"Joseph,  how  doth  Pharaoh  rest  on  his  throne? 
Doth  he  sit  easy?" 

Always  in  their  brief  but  good-natured  interviews 
the  evangelist  called  the  young  man  "Joseph." 
Elias  took  Vaniman's  arm  and  walked  along  with 
him. 

"I'm  afraid,  Prophet  Elias,  that  you'll  provoke 
Mr.  Britt  too  far.  Take  my  advice.  Keep  away 
from  him  for  a  time." 

"'There  be  three  things  which  are  too  wonderful 
for  me,  yea,  four  which  I  know  not:  the  way  of  an 
eagle  in  the  air,  the  way  of  a  serpent  upon  a  rock, 
the  way  of  a  ship  in  the  midst  of  the  sea,  and  the  way 
of  a  man  with  a  maid,'"  said  the  Prophet,  placidly. 
"Furthermore,  'The  proud  have  digged  pits  for  me.' 
Joseph,  the  pitfalls  encompass  thee." 

Vaniman  refrained  from  making  a  reply;  the 

61 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

Prophet  was  displaying  an  embarrassing  amount  of 
sapience  as  to  conditions. 

In  front  of  Usial  Britt's  cot  they  halted  and  the 
eccentric  leaned  close  to  Vaniman's  ear.  "Joseph, 
my  son,  keep  thine  eye  peeled."  He  released  the 
cashier's  arm  and  strode  to  the  door  of  Usial's  house. 

Vaniman,  delaying  his  departure,  noted  that  the 
door  did  not  give  way  when  the  Prophet  wrenched 
at  the  knob.  The  guest  banged  his  fist  against  a 
panel.  "Let  it  be  opened  unto  me!"  he  shouted. 

His  voice  served  as  his  guaranty;  Usial  Britt 
opened  the  door  and  slammed  it  shut  so  suddenly 
after  the  Prophet  had  entered  that  it  was  necessary 
to  reopen  the  portal  and  release  the  tail  of  Elias's 
robe. 


CHAPTER  VI 
"THE  HORNET"  GOES  TO  PRESS 

VANIMAN  did  not  go  on  his  way  at  once,  though, 
by  his  daily  routine,  he  was  headed  toward  his 
bit  of  recreation  which  cheered  the  end  of  his  day 
of  occupation.  Every  afternoon  he  dropped  in  at  the 
office  of  Notary  Amos  Hexter — "Squire"  Hexter,  the 
folks  of  Egypt  called  him — and  played  euchre  with 
the  amiable  old  chap.  After  the  euchre,  the  Squire 
and  Frank  trudged  over  to  the  Hexter  home;  the 
cashier  boarded  with  the  Squire  and  his  wife, 
Xoa. 

In  his  general  uneasiness,  in  his  hankering  for  any 
sort  of  information  that  would  help  his  affairs,  the 
young  man  was  tempted  to  follow  the  provocative 
Elias  and  pin  him  down  to  something  definite;  the 
flashes  of  shrewd  sanity  in  the  fanatic's  mouthings 
had  encouraged  Frank  to  believe  that  the  Prophet 
was  not  quite  as  much  of  an  ingenuous  lunatic  as  his 
gab  and  garb  suggested. 

Right  away,  curiosity  of  another  sort  added  its 
impulse. 

Usial's  windows  were  uncurtained,  though  the 

63 


When  Egypt  Went  Brokf 

grime  on  them  helped  to  conceal  activities  within 
by  a  sort  of  ground-glass  effect.  But  Vaniman  could 
see  well  enough  to  understand  what  was  going  on. 
Every  once  in  a  while  a  canvas  flap  came  over  in  a 
half  circle  across  Vaniman's  line  of  vision  through 
one  of  the  windows.  Then  a  hairy  arm  turned  a 
crank  briskly;  a  moment  later  the  arm  pulled  at  a 
horizontal  bar  with  vigor. 

It  was  plain  that  Usial  Britt  was  printing. 

Vaniman  had  seen  the  shoemaker's  printing  equip 
ment  in  common  with  everybody  else  who  dropped 
into  the  shop.  There  were  a  few  cases  of  worn 
type;  there  was  a  venerable  Washington  hand  press. 
Vaniman  had  even  been  down  on  his  knees,  by 
Usial's  invitation,  and  had  peered  up  at  the  under 
surface  of  the  imposing  stone. 

When  Tasper  Britt  wanted  a  burial  lot  in  the 
Egypt  cemetery  of  a  size  sufficient  to  set  off  his 
statue  in  good  shape,  he  secured  a  hillock  in  which 
some  of  the  patriarchs  of  the  pioneers  had  been 
interred.  There  were  no  known  descendants  to  say 
him  nay.  A  fallen  slate  slab  that  had  been  long  con 
cealed  in  the  tangled  grass  was  tossed  over  the 
cemetery  fence  by  the  men  who  cleared  up  the  hillock. 
Usial  Britt  considered  the  slab  a  legitimate  find  and 
with  it  replaced  a  marble  imposing  stone  that  had 
become  gouged  and  cracked.  Vaniman  had  found 
the  inscription  interesting  when  he  knelt  and  peered 
up: 

64 


"  The  Hornet"  Goes  to  Press 

Here  Lies  the  Body  of  THOSPIT  WAGG, 
In  Politics  a  Whig. 

By  Occupation  a  Cooper  in  a  Hoop-pole  Town. 
Now  Food  for  Worms. 
Here  I  Lie,  Like  an  Old  Rum  Puncheon, 
Marked,  Numbered  and  Shooked, 

To  be  Raised  at  Last  and  Finished  by  the  Hand  of  My 
Maker. 

As  Egypt  knew,  Usial  Britt  did  not  print  for  profit. 
He  accepted  no  pay  of  any  sort  for  the  product  of 
his  press.  When  the  spirit  moved,  or  he  felt  that  the 
occasion  demanded  comment  in  print,  he  "stuck" 
the  worn  type,  composing  directly  from  the  case 
without  first  putting  his  thoughts  on  paper,  and 
printed  and  issued  a  sheet  which  he  titled  The  Hornet. 
Sometimes  The  Hornet  buzzed  blandly — more  often 
it  stung  savagely. 

Vaniman  obeyed  his  impulse;  he  went  to  the  door 
and  knocked.  He  had  always  found  Usial  Britt  in 
a  sociable  mood. 

"Who  is  it?"  inquired  the  shoemaker. 

"Vaniman  of  the  bank." 

"Leave  your  job,  whatever  it  is,  on  the  threshold, 
sir." 

"I  am  not  bringing  you  any  work,  Mr.  Britt." 

"Then  kindly  pass  on;  I'm  in  executive  session, 
sir." 

The  grumble  of  the  cogs  and  the  squeak  of  the 
press  went  on. 

65 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

So  did  Vaniman,  after  he  had  waited  at  the  door 
for  a  few  moments. 

Squire  Hexter  had  a  corner  of  his  table  cleaned  of 
paper  litter,  in  readiness  for  the  euchre  game. 

He  was  tilted  back  in  his  chair,  smoking  his 
blackened  T.  D.  pipe,  and  a  swinging  boot  was 
scraping  to  and  fro  along  the  spine  of  a  fuzzy  old 
dog  whose  head  was  meditatively  lowered  while  he 
enjoyed  the  scratching.  The  Squire  called  the  old 
dog  "Eli";  that  name  gave  Hexter  a  frequent  op 
portunity  to  turn  his  little  joke  about  having  owned 
another  dog  that  he  called  "Uli"  and  presented  to 
a  brother  lawyer  as  an  appropriate  gift. 

The  Squire  had  little  dabs  of  whiskers  on  his  cheeks 
like  fluffs  of  cotton  batting,  and  his  wide  mouth 
linked  those  dabs  when  he  smiled. 

He  came  forward  promptly  in  his  chair,  slapped 
his  palm  on  the  waiting  pack  of  cards,  and  cut  for 
the  deal  while  Vaniman  was  throwing  off  his  coat. 

"Judging  by  signs,  as  I  came  past  Britt's  shop, 
The  Hornet  is  getting  ready  to  buzz  again,"  said  the 
cashier. 

"Aye!  I  reckoned  as  much.  I  have  looked  across 
there  from  time  to  time  to-day  and  have  seen  cus 
tomers  knocking  in  vain  on  the  door.  It's  your  deal, 
boy!" 

Vaniman  shuffled  obediently. 

"And  there  was  a  run-in  this  morning  between 

your  boss  and  his  brother,"  observed  the  Squire, 

66 


"  The  Hornet"  Goes  to  Press 

scratching  a  match.  "And  Eli,  here,  called  my  at 
tention  to  the  fact  that  two  sun  dogs,  strangers  to 
him,  were  chasing  along  with  the  sun  all  the  forenoon. 
Signs  of  trouble,  boy — sure  signs!"  He  sorted  his 
cards.  It  was  more  of  the  Squire's  regular  line  of 
humor  to  ascribe  to  Eli  various  sorts  of  comment 
and  counsel. 

"How  crazy  do  you  think  Prophet  Elias  is?" 
inquired  the  young  man,  avoiding  further  reference 
to  his  employer. 

"After  listening  many  times  to  the  testimony  of 
expert  alienists  in  court  trials  I  have  come  to  the  con 
clusion  that  all  the  folks  in  the  world  are  crazy,  son, 
or  else  nobody  is  ever  crazy.  I  don't  think  I'll  ex 
press  any  opinion  on  the  Prophet.  I  might  find  my 
self  qualifying  as  an  alienist  expert.  I'd  hate  to!" 

After  that  mild  rebuff  Vaniman  gave  all  his  mind 
to  the  game — for  when  the  Squire  played  euchre  he 
wanted  to  attend  strictly  to  the  business  in  hand. 
And  in  the  span  of  time  between  dusk  and  supper  the 
two  were  rarely  interrupted. 

But  on  this  afternoon  they  were  out  of  luck. 

Men  came  tramping  up  the  screaking  outside 
stairs  that  conducted  to  the  office;  the  Squire  had  a 
room  over  Ward's  general  store. 

The  men  were  led  into  the  office  by  Isaac  Jones — 
"Gid-dap  Ike,"  he  was  nicknamed — the  driver  of  the 
mail  stage  between  Egypt  and  the  railroad  at  Levant. 

For  a  moment  Squire  Hexter  looked  really  alarmed. 

6? 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

There  were  half  a  dozen  men  in  the  party  and  he  was 
not  accustomed  to  irruptions  of  numbers.  Then  his 
greeting  smile  linked  his  whisker  tufts.  Mr.  Jones 
and  his  party  pulled  off  their  hats  and  by  their  de 
meanor  of  awkward  dignity  stood  convicted  as 
being  members  of  a  delegation  formally  presenting 
themselves. 

"Hullo,  boys!  Have  chairs.  Excuse  the  mo 
mentary  hesitation.  I  was  afraid  you  had  come 
after  me  with  a  soaped  rope." 

"I  reckon  we  won't  set,"  stated  Mr.  Jones. 
"And  we'll  be  straight  and  to  the  point,  seeing  that 
a  game  is  on.  Squire  Hexter,  me  and  these  gents 
represent  the  voters  of  Egypt.  We  ask  you  to  accept 
the  nomination  to  the  legislature  from  this  town  for 
next  session.  So  say  I." 

"So  say  we  all!"  chorused  the  other  men. 

The  Squire  set  the  thumb  and  forefinger  of  each 
hand  into  a  whisker  fluff  and  twisted  a  couple  of 
spills,  squinting  at  them.  "The  compliment  is 
esteemed,  boys.  But  the  previousness  is  perplexing. 
This  is  February,  and  the  primaries  are  not  till  June." 

"Squire  Hexter,  it  ain't  too  early  to  show  a  man 
in  this  town  where  he  gets  off.  That  man  is  Tasper 
Britt.  He  has  had  ten  dollars'  worth  of  telling  to 
day  by  'Sniffer'  Orne.  But  telling  ain't  showing. 
What  do  you  say?" 

The  Squire  gave  Jones  a  whimsical  wink  and  in 
dicated  the  attentive  Vaniman  with  a  jab  of  the 

68 


"  The  Hornet"  Goes  to  Press 

thumb.  "'S-s-sh!  Look  out,  or  the  rate  of  interest 
will  go  up." 

Jones  and  his  associates  scowled  at  the  cashier, 
and  Vaniman  understood  with  added  bitterness  the 
extent  of  his  vicarious  atonement  as  Britt's  mouth 
piece  at  the  wicket  of  the  bank. 

"The  interest-payers  of  this  town  have  been  well 
dreened.  But  the  voters — the  voters,  understand, 
still  have  assets.  The  voters  have  got  to  the  point 
where  they  ain't  afraid  of  Tasper  Britt.  The  cashier 
of  his  bank  can  so  report  to  him,  if  the  said  cashier 
so  chooses — and,  as  cashier,  probably  will." 

"The  cashier  will  attend  strictly  and  exclusively 
to  his  bank  duties,  and  to  nothing  else,"  declared 
Vaniman,  with  heat. 

"Hope  you're  enjoying  'em,  such  as  they  are  of 
late,"  Jones  retorted.  "But  once  again,  what  say, 
Squire  Hexter?" 

"Boys,  you'd  better  get  somebody  else  to  sand 
paper  Tasper  Britt  with.  I'm  not  gritty  enough." 

"I'll  come  across  with  our  full  idea,  Squire.  It 
ain't  simply  to  sandpaper  Britt  that  we  want  you  to 
go.  But  we  need  some  kind  of  legislation  to  help 
this  town  out  of  the  hole.  We  don't  know  where  we 
are.  We  can't  raise  money  to  pay  state  taxes,  and 
we  ain't  getting  our  school  money  from  the  state, 
nor  any  share  of  the  roads  appropriation,  nor — " 

"I  know,  Ike,"  broke  in  the  Squire,  not  requiring 
any  legal  posting  from  a  layman.  "But  it's  the  lob- 

69 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

byist,  instead  of  the  legislator,  who  really  counts  at 
the  state  capital.  I've  been  planning  to  do  a  little 
lobbying  at  the  next  session.  I'll  tell  you  now  that 
I'll  go,  and,  by  hooking  a  clean  collar  around  each 
ankle  under  my  socks,  I'll  be  prepared  for  a  two 
weeks'  stay.  Send  somebody  else  to  work  for  the 
state  and  I'll  go  and  work  for  Egypt." 

"The  voters  want  you,"  Jones  insisted. 

The  Squire  rapped  his  toe  against  the  old  dog  at 
his  feet.  "What  say,  Eli?" 

"Wuff!"  the  dog  replied,  emphatically. 

"Can't  go  as  a  legislator,  boys!    Eli  says  'No.": 

"This  ain't  no  time  for  joking,"  growled  the 
spokesman. 

"Certainly  not!"  The  Squire  snapped  back  his 
retort  briskly.  He  was  serious.  "I  agree  with  you 
that  this  poor  old  town  needs  help  and  a  hearing. 
But  when  I  go  to  the  State  House  I  propose  to  wear 
out  shoe  leather  instead  of  pants  cloth.  If  you  must 
rasp  Britt,  go  get  a  real  file!" 

"Who  in  the  blazes  can  we  get?"  demanded  Jones, 
helplessly. 

The  Squire  laid  down  the  hand  of  cards  which 
he  had  just  picked  up,  thus  signaling  the  end  of 
the  interview,  impatiently  motioning  to  Vaniman 
to  play;  then  the  notary  narrowed  his  eyes  and 
pondered. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  more  screaking  of  the 

outside  stairs. 

70 


"  The  Hornet"  Goes  to  Press 

Prophet  Elias  stalked  into  the  office.  He  carried 
limp,  damp  sheets  across  a  forearm — papers  that  had 
been  well  wet  down  in  order  to  take  impressions 
from  the  Washington  press.  The  men  in  the  room 
waited  for  one  of  his  sonorous  promulgations  of 
biblical  truth.  But  he  said  no  word,  and  his  silence 
was  more  impressive  because  it  was  unwonted.  He 
marched  straight  to  the  Squire  and  gave  him  one  of 
the  sheets.  Then  the  Prophet  turned  and  strode 
toward  the  door.  Jones  put  out  his  hand,  asking  for 
one  of  the  papers.  Elias  shook  his  head.  "Yon 
scribe  has  a  voice.  Let  him  read  aloud.  I  have  but 
few  papers — they  must  be  spent  thriftily/'  He 
passed  on  and  went  out. 

"One  of  the  city  newspapers  ought  to  hire  him 
for  a  newsboy,"  remarked  Mr.  Jones,  acridly.  "He 
could  scare  up  a  big  circulation." 

The  only  light  in  the  dim  room  was  afforded  by  the 
big  lamp  at  the  Squire's  elbow.  He  spread  the  sheet 
on  the  table  in  the  lamp's  circle  of  radiance.  "Boys, 
The  Hornet  is  out  and  it  looks  as  if  it  has  a  barb  in 
its  stinger,"  he  stated,  and  then  paused  while  he 
fixed  his  spectacles  upon  his  nose. 

Vaniman,  sitting  close  by,  felt  that  a  glance  at  a 
public  sheet  was  not  invading  privacy. 

A  smutted  heading  in  wood  type  was  smeared 
across  the  top  of  the  page.  It  counseled: 

VOTE  FOR  BRITT.    GIVE  PHARAOH  HIS  KINGLY 

CROWN 
6 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

There  was  a  broad,  blank  space  in  one  of  the  upper 
corners  of  the  sheet.  Under  the  space  was  this 
explanation : 

Portrait  of  Tasper  Britt,  with  his  latest  improvements. 
But,  on  second  thought,  out  of  regard  for  the  feelings  of 
our  readers,  we  omit  the  portrait. 

The  Squire,  getting  control  of  emotions  which  the 
observing  Jones  and  his  associates  noted  with  rising 
interest,  demurely  explained  to  them  the  layout  of 
the  page  after  he  had  carefully  inspected  the  sheet. 

Then  Squire  Hexter  began  to  read  aloud,  in  a  tone 
whose  twist  of  satire  gave  the  text  its  full  flavor: 

"We  hasten  to  proclaim  in  the  land  of  Egypt  that 
Pharaoh  Britt  has  reached  for  the  scepter,  though  he  has 
not  loosed  his  grip  on  the  gouge.  You  will  know  him 
here  and  hereafter  by  his  everlasting  grip  on  the  gouge. 
He  will  take  that  gouge  to  Tophet  with  him.  Then  it 
will  be  heated  red-hot  and  he  will  prance  around  hell 
astraddle  of  it.  But  in  the  meantime  he  is  hot  after 
the  honors  of  this  world.  Give  him  his  crown,  say  we. 
He  has  prepared  a  nice,  new  hair  mattress  OR  his  brow 
where  the  diadem  will  rest  easy.  Under  Jiis  coat  of  arms 
— to  wit,  a  yellow  he-goat  rampant  in  a  field  of  purple 
thistles — let  him  write  the  word  'Victory.'" 

The  men  in  that  room  were  Yankees,  with  a  sense 
of  humor  as  keen  as  a  new  bush  scythe. 

The  Squire  sat  back  and  wiped  his  spectacles  and 
beamed  on  their  laughter.  Then  he  read  on  down 
the  column,  through  the  biting  satire  to  the  bitter 

72 


"  The  Hornet"  Goes  to  Press 

end,  having  an  audience  whose  hilarity  would  have 
delighted  a  vaudeville  performer's  soul. 

Therefore,  it  was  with  inspired  unction  that  the 
reader  delivered  the  "tag  lines"  of  the  screed. 

"We  confess  that  we  have  a  selfish  purpose  in  paying 
this  affectionate,  brotherly  tribute  to  Pharaoh.  When 
he  has  deigned  to  refer  to  us  in  the.  past  he  has  called  us 
'Useless'  Britt.  Now,  if  this  tribute  has  the  effect  that 
we  devoutly  hope  for,  Pharaoh  may  be  of  a  mind  to  give 
us  back  our  right  name.  We  ask  nothing  else  in  the  way 
of  recompense." 

The  Squire  folded  the  paper  carefully  and  put  it 
away  in  his  breast  pocket  with  the  manner  of  one 
caching  a  treasure.  "Boys,  what  are  you  waiting 
for?"  he  inquired,  with  an  affectation  of  surprise. 

Their  wide  grins  narrowed  into  the  creases  of 
wonderment  of  their  own. 

Hexter  patted  his  breast  where  he  had  stowed 
away  the  paper.  "Egypt  has  a  literary  light,  a 
journalist  who  wields  a  pen  of  power,  a  shoemaker 
philosopher.  And  modest — not  grasping!  See  how 
little  he  asks  for  himself.  Why  not  give  him  a  real 
present?  Why  not — " 

Spokesman  Jones  perceived  what  the  counselor 
was  aiming  at  and  ecstatically  shouted,  "Gid-dap!" 

"Why  not  use  real  sandpaper?"  urged  the  Squire, 
with  innocent  mildness. 

Jones  whirled  and  drove  his  delegation  ahead  of 
him  from  the  room,  both  hands  upraised,  fingers  and 

73 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

thumbs  snapping  loud  cracks  as  if  he  were  urging  his 
horses  up  Burkett  Hill  with  snapping  whip.  The 
men  went  tramping  down  the  outside  stairs,  bellow 
ing  the  first  honest-to-goodness  laughter  that  Egypt 
had  heard  for  many  a  day. 

Squire  Hexter  leaped  up  and  grabbed  his  hat  and 
coat  from  their  hooks.  "Come  on,  boy!  It  looks  as 
if  there's  going  to  be  a  nominating  bee  at  The  Hornet 
office — and  we  mustn't  miss  any  of  the  buzzing." 

The  two  followed  close  on  the  heels  of  the  noisy 
delegation. 

Usial  Britt  opened  his  door  and  stood  in  the  frame 
of  light  after  Jones  had  halted  his  clamorous  crowd. 
The  amateur  publicist  rolled  his  inky  hands  in  his 
apron  and  showed  doubt  that  was  growing  into  alarm. 

"Hold  your  nippety  pucker,  Usial,"  counseled 
Hexter,  calling  over  the  heads  of  the  men.  "The 
boys  had  me  guessing,  too,  a  few  minutes  ago.  But 
this  isn't  a  lynching  bee." 

However,  while  the  crowd  laughed  and  others  came 
hastening  to  the  scene,  and  while  Spokesman  Jones 
was  trying  to  make  himself  heard  above  the  uproar, 
an  element  was  added  which  seemed  to  discount  the 
Squire's  reassuring  words. 

Tasper  Britt  rushed  out  from  Files's  tavern  and 
stood  on  the  porch.  He  had  one  of  the  papers  in  his 
hand.  He  ripped  the  paper  to  tatters  and  strewed 
about  him  the  bits  and  stamped  on  the  litter.  He 
shrieked  profanity.  Then  he  leaped  off  the  porch. 

74 


"  The  Hornet"  Goes  to  Press 

In  the  tavern  yard  was  "Gid-dap"  Jones's  stage 
pung.  Britt  yanked  the  big  whip  from  its  socket 
and  bounced  across  the  street,  untangling  the 
lash. 

"No,  you  don't!"  bellowed  Jones,  getting  in  the 
way  and  making  grabs  at  the  whip.  "Not  with  my 
own  private  persuader!  Get  aholt  of  him,  men! 
Down  him.  Don't  let  him  whale  the  representative 
we're  going  to  send  from  the  town  of  Egypt!" 

That  declared  hint  of  what  was  afoot  put  the  last 
touch  on  Tasper  Britt's  fury.  He  fought  savagely 
to  force  his  way  through  the  men. 

The  voice  of  Usial  checked  the  melee.  He  shouted 
with  a  compelling  quality  in  his  tone.  As  the  man 
on  whom  they  proposed  to  bestow  the  town's  highest 
honor,  he  had  already  acquired  new  authority. 
The  men  loosed  Tasper  Britt. 

"This  is  between  brothers,"  said  Usial.  He  had 
stepped  from  his  doorway.  He  stood  alone.  "What 
outsider  dares  to  interfere?" 

Tasper  Britt  employed  his  freedom  promptly  and 
brutally;  he  leaped  along  the  avenue  the  men  left 
for  him  and  began  to  lash  Usial  with  the  whip.  The 
stolid  townsfolk  of  Egypt  stood  in  their  tracks. 

"That's  the  best  way — let  'em  fight  it  out,"  coun 
seled  Spokesman  Jones.  "Tasp  Britt  will  get  his, 
and  it  '11  be  all  in  the  family!" 

But  Usial  merely  tossed  his  big  apron  over  his 
head  and  crouched  and  took  the  lashing. 

75 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"Isn't  somebody  going  to  stop  that?"  Vaniman 
demanded. 

Nobody  moved.  Egypt  had  its  own  ideas  about 
interference  in  family  matters,  it  seemed,  and  had 
been  tartly  reminded  of  those  ideas  by  Usial  Britt 
himself. 

But  Vaniman  was  an  outlander.  He  saw  his  em 
ployer  disgracing  himself;  he  beheld  an  unresisting 
victim  cruelly  maltreated. 

The  young  man  jumped  on  Tasper  Britt  and  tried 
to  hold  his  arms.  When  Britt  whirled  and  broke 
loose  by  the  twist  of  his  quick  turn  and  struck  the 
cashier  with  the  whip,  Vaniman  wrested  away  the 
weapon,  using  all  his  vigorous  strength,  and  threw 
it  far.  Then  he  seized  the  frothing  assailant  and 
forced  him  back  toward  the  tavern.  "Mr.  Britt, 
remember  what  you  are — the  president  of  our  bank 
• — a  prominent  man — "  Vaniman  gasped,  pro 
testing.  "When  you're  yourself  you'll  thank  me!" 

But  there  was  no  sign  of  gratitude  in  Britt's  coun 
tenance  just  then.  His  crazed  rage  was  shifted  to 
this  presumptuous  person  who  had  interfered  and 
was  manhandling  him;  at  that  moment  the  liveliest 
emotion  in  Britt  was  the  mordant  jealousy  that  he 
had  been  trying  to  stifle.  It  awoke  and  raged,  finding 
real  excuse  for  the  venting  of  its  rancor  on  the  man 
who  had  made  him  jealous. 

"You  damnation  spawn  of  a  jailbird — " 

The  young  man  had  a  rancor  of  his  own  that  he 

76 


"The  Hornet"  Goes  to  Press 

had  been  holding  in  leash  ever  since  he  had  sent 
Vona  to  fight  her  own  battle,  with  his  kiss  on  her 
cheek.  He  broke  off  that  vitriolic  taunt  by  dealing 
Britt  an  open-handed  slap  across  the  mouth,  a  blow 
of  such  force  that  the  man  went  reeling  backward. 
And  when  Britt  beheld  Vaniman's  face,  as  the  young 
man  came  resolutely  along,  the  magnate  of  Egypt 
kept  going  backward  of  his  own  accord,  flapping 
hands  of  protest.  "Vaniman,  here  and  now  I  dis 
charge  you  from  the  bank." 

"Mr.  Britt,  that's  a  matter  for  the  vote  of  the 
directors — and  I'll  wait  to  hear  from  them." 

Vaniman  whirled  from  Britt,  for  the  impulse  was 
in  him  to  smash  his  doubled  fist  into  that  hateful 
visage;  his  palm  still  itched;  the  open-handed  buffet 
had  not  satisfied  the  tingling  nerves  of  that  hand. 

Usial  Britt  had  not  hurried  about  raising  himself 
from  his  crouching  position.  He  was  standing  with 
his  apron  over  his  head  when  the  cashier  turned. 
Usial  pulled  down  the  apron  and  faced  the  citizens. 
He  was  smiling — an  irradiating,  genial,  triumphant 
sort  of  smile!  One  might  readily  have  taken  him  for 
the  victor  in  a  contest! 

Spokesman  Jones  gulped.  "We  came — we  was 
intending — but  this  hoop-te-doo — " 

Usial  beamed  blandly  and  helped  out  Mr.  Jones's 
efforts  to  express  his  intentions.  "Yes,  Brother 
Jones,  it  was  quite  a  shower  while  it  lasted.  What 
were  you  intending  to  do?" 

77 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"Ask  you  to  take  the  nomination  for  the  legis 
lature." 

The  crowd  indorsed  the  request  with  viva-voce 
enthusiasm. 

"I  certainly  will.  I  am  pleased  and  proud," 
declared  Usial. 

Through  the  circle  of  men  came  Prophet  Elias, 
his  robe  trailing  on  his  heels.  He  stood  beside  Usial 
and  faced  the  bystanders.  He  proclaimed,  "'Nay, 
in  all  these  things  we  are  more  than  conquerors, 
through  Him  that  loved  us." 

Somebody  handed  to  Mr.  Jones  his  whip  and  he 
inspected  it  carefully.  "Of  course,  there's  more 
than  one  way  of  fighting  a  man — and  I  have  my 
own  notions — but  maybe  I'm  wrong." 

"Eli  has  observed  many  a  dog-fight,"  Squire 
Hexter  remarked;  "and,  so  far  as  he  sees,  the  at 
tacking  dog  doesn't  get  much  out  of  the  fracas 
except  a  ripped  ear  and  a  raw  reputation  in  the 
neighborhood."  He  marched  to  Vaniman,  took  that 
perturbed  young  man  by  the  arm,  and  said  that  Xoa 
would  be  waiting  supper. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SQUARED    OFF   AND   ALL    SET 

AS  Squire  Hexter  and  Vaniman  walked  on  together 
•**•  the  notary  deferred  comment  on  the  recent 
happenings,  as  if  he  hoped  that  the  cashier  would 
open  up  on  the  topic.  But  Frank  was  grimly  silent. 

Therefore  the  Squire  broke  the  ice.  "What  kind 
of  a  partner  does  Tasp  Britt  make  in  a  polka,  son? 
I  saw  you  and  him  going  at  it  pretty  briskly." 

"I  stopped  him  from  making  a  fool  of  himself." 

"Quite  a  contract,  boy!  Quite  a  contract!  And 
when  you  got  to  the  matter  of  his  purple  whiskers 
and  his  lamp-mat  hair — 

"I  said  nothing  to  Mr.  Britt  on  such  a  ridiculous 
topic — certainly  not,  sir!" 

"And  yet  you  brag  that  you  have  stopped  him 
from  making  a  fool  of  himself,"  purred  the  Squire. 
"Tut!  Tut!  He's  worse  than  ever.  I  heard  him  tell 
you  that  you're  discharged  from  the  bank." 

"Yes,  I  heard  him,  too!" 

"I  didn't  catch  what  you  answered  back." 

"I  told  him  I  should  ask  the  directors  to  decide 
that  matter." 

79 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

" Quite  right!  You're  sure  of  one  vote  for  your 
side — that's  mine!  And  I  think  that  when  President 
Britt  considers  that  he  has  no  other  charge  against 
you  except  that  you  took  away  a  horsewhip  that  he 
was  using  not  wisely  but  too  well — " 

"I  struck  him  across  the  mouth." 

"Oh,  I  missed  that,"  said  the  Squire,  regretfully. 
"Why  the  pat?" 

"I  could  not  express  my  feelings  in  any  other  way. 
As  to  what  those  feelings  were  and  why  he  stirred 
them,  I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  excuse  me,  Squire 
Hexter.  If  I  were  going  to  stay  in  the  bank  I  would 
explain  the  matter  to  you  and  to  the  directors. 
But  I'm  going  to  resign.  Under  those  conditions, 
nobody  has  the  right  to  tear  the  heart  out  of  me  and 
stick  it  up  for  a  topic  of  conversation." 

The  Squire  glanced  sideways  at  the  convulsed  face 
of  the  cashier  and  opened  his  eyes  wide;  but  he 
promptly  hid  his  wonderment  and  checked  an  ex 
clamation  that  sounded  like  a  question.  "I  reckon 
all  of  us  better  wait  till  morning,  son — Tasper  and 
you  and  I  and  all  the  rest."  He  looked  up  at  the 
bright  stars  in  a  hard  sky.  "A  snappy  night  like 
this  will  cool  things  off  considerable." 

"I'll  wait  till  morning,  sir!  Then  I  propose  to 
resign,"  Frank  insisted. 

"Don't  say  anything  like  that  in  front  of  Xoa," 
pleaded  Squire  Hexter.  "I  don't  ever  want  to  see 
again  on  her  face  the  look  she  wore  when  she  fol- 

80 


Squared  Off  and  All  Set 

lowed  our  own  Frank  to  the  cemetery;  now  that  she 
has  sort  of  adopted  you,  boy,  I'm  afraid  she'll  have 
the  same  look  if  she  has  to  follow  you  to  Ike  Jones's 
stage." 

The  supper  was  waiting,  as  the  Squire  had  pre 
dicted;  but  he  took  no  chances  on  sitting  at  table 
at  once  and  having  her  keen  woman's  eyes  survey 
Vaniman's  somber  face;  he  feared  that  her  solicitude 
would  open  up  a  dangerous  topic. 

"Leave  your  biscuits  in  for  a  few  minutes,  Mother," 
the  Squire  urged.  "Let's  have  some  literature  for 
an  appetizer." 

So  he  sat  down  and  read  the  brotherly  tribute  in 
the  new  issue  of  The  Hornet,  and  Xoa's  eyes  glistened 
behind  her  spectacles,  though  she  decorously  de 
plored  the  heat  of  the  sting  dealt  by  Usial.  Frank, 
watching  her  efforts  to  hide  mirth  and  display 
womanly  concern  at  this  distressing  affair  between 
brothers,  forgot  some  of  his  own  troubles  in  his 
amusement.  Therefore  the  Squire's  tactics  were 
successful,  and  the  talk  at  the  supper  table  over  the 
hot  biscuits  and  the  cold  chicken  and  the  damson 
preserves  was  concerned  merely  with  the  characters 
of  the  brothers  Britt.  Squire  Hexter  did  mention, 
casually,  that  Frank  had  succeeded  in  inducing 
Tasper  to  stop  whipping  Usial.  Xoa  reached  and 
patted  the  young  man's  arm  and  blessed  him  with 
her  eyes. 

Frank,  as  usual,  helped  Xoa  to  clear  away  the 

81 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

supper  things.  Early  in  his  stay  he  had  been  obliged 
to  beg  for  permission  to  do  it,  and  she  had  con 
sented  at  last  when  he  pleaded  that  it  made  him  feel 
less  like  a  boarder  in  the  Hexter  home. 

While  she  finished  her  work  in  the  kitchen  Vani- 
man  sat  with  the  Squire  in  front  of  the  fireplace  and 
smoked  his  pipe,  but  not  with  his  customary  comfort; 
the  tobacco  seemed  to  be  as  bitter  as  his  ponderings; 
he  was  trying  to  stiffen  his  resolution  to  go  away 
from  Egypt. 

Squire  Hexter  chatted.  It  was  hard  to  keep  ofF 
the  Britt  affair,  but  the  notary  tactfully  kept  away 
from  the  sore  center  of  it. 

"It  has  been  going  on  a  long  time — the  trouble 
between  'em,  son.  For  two  men  who  look  alike  out 
side,  they're  about  as  different  inside  as  any  two 
I've  ever  known.  Tasper  has  been  all  for  grab!  He 
grabbed  away  Usial's  share  of  the  home  place  and 
then  he  grabbed  Mehitable  Dole  while  she  was 
keeping  company  with  Usial.  I  suppose  Hittie 
reckoned  there  was  no  choice  in  outside  looks,  but 
saw  considerable  inducement  in  the  home  place. 
Plenty  of  other  women  for  Usial!  Yes!  But  I  can't 
help  thinking  that  I  might  be  keeping  bach  hall  in 
my  law  office  if  I  hadn't  got  hold  of  Xoa  in  my 
young  days.  So  there's  Usial!  Right  in  his  rut 
because  he's  the  kind  that  stays  in  a  rut.  Pegs  shoes 
days  and  reads  books  nights.  No  telling  how  the 
legislature  may  develop  him.  Glad  he's  going." 

82 


Squared  Off  and  All  Set 

The  Squire  rapped  out  his  pipe  ashes  against  an 
andiron.  His  posture  gave  him  an  opportunity  to 
say  what  he  said  next  without  meeting  Vaniman's 
gaze.  "Vona  Harnden  was  a  mighty  smart  girl 
when  she  was  teaching  school.  I  was  superin 
tendent  and  had  a  chance  to  know.  Does  she  take 
hold  well  in  the  bank?" 

Vaniman  had  hard  work  to  make  his  affirmative 
sound  casual. 

"Have  you  met  Joe,  her  father,  since  you've  been 
in  town?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Not  surprising,  and  no  great  loss.  Joe  is  on  the 
jump  a  lot — geniusing  around  the  country.  Joe's  a 
real  genius." 

The  young  man  looked  straight  into  the  fire  and 
returned  no  comment.  He  knew  well  the  dry 
quality  of  Hexter's  satirical  humor  and  perceived 
that  the  notary  was  indulging  in  that  humor. 

"Yes,  Joe  Harnden  is  quite  an  operator,  son. 
Jumps,  as  I  have  said.  A  good  optimist.  Jumps  up 
so  high  every  day  that  he  can  see  over  all  the  bother 
some  hills  into  the  Promised  Land  of  Plenty.  Only 
trouble  is  that  Joe's  jumping  apparatus  is  so  geared 
that  he  only  jumps  straight  up  and  lands  back  in  the 
same  place.  Now,  if  only  he  could  jump  ahead — " 

Xoa  had  come  in  from  the  kitchen  and  was  setting 
out  a  small  table  on  which  the  pachisi  board  was 
ready  for  the  evening's  regular  recreation.  She 

83 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

broke  in  with  protest.     "Amos,  you  shouldn't  make 
fun  of  the  neighbors!" 

"I'm  complimenting  Joe  Harnden,"  the  Squire 
went  on,  with  serenity.  "I'm  saying  that  when  he 
uses  that  inventive  genius  of  his  on  his  own  jumping 
gear  he'll  leap  ahead  and  make  good.  For  instance, 
son,  here's  an  example.  Joe  invented  an  antistagger 
shoe — a  star-shaped  shoe — to  be  let  out  at  saloons 
and  city  clubs  like  they  lend  umbrellas  for  a  fee — 
and  then  the  reformers  went  and  passed  that  pro 
hibition  law.  Always  a  little  behind  with  a  grand 
notion — that's  the  trouble  with  Joe!" 

"Amos,  you're  making  up  that  yarn  about  a  shoe!" 
declared  Xoa. 

"Well,  if  it  wasn't  an  antistagger  shoe,  it  was — 
oh — something,"  insisted  the  Squire.  "At  any  rate, 
Joe  was  in  my  office  to-day.  He's  home  again.  He's 
all  cheered  up.  He  is  taking  town  gossip  for  face 
value."  The  notary  looked  away  from  Vaniman  and 
gave  his  wife  an  ingenuous  glance.  "Of  course,  I 
don't  need  to  remind  you,  Xoa,  speaking  of  gossip, 
that  the  folks  will  have  it  that  Tasp  Britt  has  put 
on  that  war  paint  so  as  to  go  on  the  trail  of  a  Number 
Two.  And  Joe  says  that,  in  picking  Vona,  Britt  has 
picked  right.  Joe's  a  genius  in  inventing.  I'm  ex 
pecting  that  he'll  now  invent  a  lie  about  himself  or 
Britt  or  somebody  else  to  make  that  girl  either  sorry 
enough  or  mad  enough  to  carry  out  what  gossip  is 
predicting." 

84 


Squared  Off  and  All  Set 

Xoa  had  seated  herself  at  the  small  table  and  was 
vigorously  rattling  the  dice  in  one  of  the  boxes  by 
way  of  a  hint  to  the  laggard  menfolks.  "Women 
have  a  soft  side,  and  men  come  up  on  that  side  and 
take  advantage — and  Joe  Harnden's  mealy  mouth 
has  always  served  him  well  with  his  womenfolks — 
but  I  do  hope  Vona  Harnden  has  got  done  being 
fool  enough  to  galley-slave  and  sacrifice  for  the  rest 
of  her  life,"  sputtered  the  dame.  "Britt  for  her? 
Fs-s-sh!"  Her  hiss  of  disgust  was  prolonged.  Then 
she  rattled  the  dice  more  vigorously. 

"It's  a  mighty  good  imitation  of  a — diamond- 
backed  rattler,  mother!  But  come  on  over  to  the 
table,  son!  ^  She  isn't  as  dangerous  as  she  sounds!" 
The  Squire  dragged  along  his  chair. 

Vaniman  leaped  from  his  seat  with  a  suddenness 
that  was  startling  in  that  interior  where  peace  pre 
vailed  and  composure  marked  all  acts.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  stay  in  the  Hexter  home  his  mood  fought 
with  the  serenity  of  the  place.  The  prospect  of  that 
bland  contest  with  disks  and  dice  was  hateful,  all 
of  a  sudden.  His  rioting  feelings  needed  room — air 
— somehow  there  seemed  to  be  something  outside 
that  he  ought  to  attend  to. 

"Dear  folks,  let  me  ofF  for  to-night,"  he  pleaded. 
"It's  been  a  hard  day  for  me — in  the  bank — I'm 
nervous — I  think  a  walk  will  do  me  good." 

He  rushed  into  the  hallway  without  waiting  for 
any  reply.  He  put  on  his  cap  and  finished  pulling 

85 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

on  his  overcoat  when  he  was  outside  the  house.  His 
first  impulse  was  to  stride  away  from  the  village — go 
out  along  the  country  road  to  avoid  the  men  who 
scowled  at  him  as  Britt's  right-hand  servitor. 

But  he  noted  that  some  kind  of  a  tumult  seemed 
to  be  going  on  in  the  village — and  any  kind  of  tumult 
fitted  the  state  of  his  emotions  right  then.  He  hur 
ried  toward  the  tavern. 

Up  and  down  the  street  men  were  marching,  to 
and  fro  before  Usial's  shop.  Vaniman  saw  tossing 
torches  and  the  light  revealed  that  some  of  the 
marchers  wore  oilcloth  capes,  evidently  relics  of 
some  past  and  gone  political  campaign  when  parades 
were  popular. 

There  was  music,  of  a  sort.  A  trombone  blatted 
— there  was  the  staccato  tuck  of  a  snare  drum,  and 
the  boom  of  a  bass  drum  came  in  with  isochronal 
beats. 

Vaniman  went  to  the  tavern  porch  and  stood 
there  with  other  onlookers. 

"Give  Ike  Jones  half  a  chance  with  that  old  tram- 
boon  of  his  and  he  ain't  no  slouch  as  a  musicianer," 
remarked  Landlord  Files  to  the  young  man.  "I 
hope  Egypt  is  waking  up  to  stay  so." 

"If  we  keep  on,  the  town  will  get  to  be  lively 
enough  to  suit  even  a  city  chap  like  you  are,"  said 
another  citizen.  "Hope  you're  going  to  stay  with 
us!"  But  there  was  no  cordiality  in  that  implied 

invitation;    that  there  was  malice  which  hoped  to 

86 


Squared  Off  and  All  Set 

start  something  was  promptly  revealed.  "In  spite 
of  what  is  reported  about  Tasp  Britt  firing  you  out 
of  your  job!"  sneered  the  man. 

The  morrow  held  no  promise  for  Vaniman,  no 
matter  what  the  Squire  had  said  in  the  way  of  reas 
surance.  To  stay  with  Britt  in  that  bank  would  be 
intolerable  punishment.  He  decided  that  he  might 
as  well  talk  back  to  Egypt  as  Egypt  deserved  to  be 
talked  to,  considering  what  line  of  contumely  had 
been  passed  in  through  that  bank  wicket.  He  was 
obliged  to  speak  loudly  in  order  to  be  heard  over  the 
trombone  and  the  drums.  Therefore,  everybody  in 
the  crowd  got  what  he  said;  he  was  young,  deeply 
stirred,  and  he  had  held  back  his  feelings  for  a  long 
time.  "I'm  going  to  leave  this  God-forsaken,  cat- 
fight  dump  just  as  soon  as  I  can  make  my  arrange 
ments  to  get  away.  Good  night!" 

He  was  ashamed  of  himself  the  moment  that  speech 
was  out  of  his  mouth.  He  was  so  much  ashamed  that 
he  immediately  became  afraid  he  would  be  moved  to 
apologize;  and  he  was  also  ashamed  to  apologize. 
He  was,  therefore,  suffering  from  a  peculiar  mixture 
of  emotions,  and  realized  that  fact,  and  hurried  ofF 
before  his  tongue  could  get  him  into  any  worse  scrape. 

He  suddenly  felt  an  impulse  to  get  back  to  sanity 
by  a  talk  with  Vona.  He  had  never  called  at  her 
home.  He  knew  his  Egypt  all  too  well — short  as  his 
stay  had  been!  A  call  on  a  young  woman  by  a 
young  man  was  always  construed  by  gossip  as  a 
7  87 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

process  of  courtship — and  until  that  day  Frank  had 
been  keeping  his  feelings  hidden  even  from  Von  a 
herself. 

But,  having  definitely  decided  to  leave  the  town, 
he  was  in  a  mood  to  put  aside  considerations  of 
caution  in  regard  to  their  mutual  affairs,  for  one 
evening,  at  any  rate.  He  was  moved  also  by  the 
reflection  that  her  father  was  at  home — and  the 
Squire  and  Xoa  had  dropped  broad  hints  as  to  that 
gentleman's  methods  of  operation  with  his  women- 
kind.  Vaniman  possessed  youth's  confidence  in  his 
ability  to  make  good  in  the  w^orld.  He  wondered  if 
it  would  not  be  well  to  have  a  general  show-down  in 
the  Harnden  family,  in  order  that  when  he  went 
away  from  Egypt  he  might  go  with  the  consolation 
of  knowing  that  Vona  was  waiting  for  him,  her  love 
sanctioned. 

Pondering,  he  arrived  in  front  of  Egypt's  humble 
town  hall.  Young  folks  were  coming  out  of  the  door. 
He  remembered  then!  For  some  weeks  they  had 
been  rehearsing  a  drama  to  be  presented  on  the  eve 
of  Washington's  Birthday,  and  Vona  had  the  leading 
role;  she  had  employed  him  at  slack  times  in  the 
bank  to  hold  the  script  and  prompt  her  in  her  lines. 

He  saw  her  and  stopped,  and  she  hastened  to  him. 
"I  suppose  a  political  parade  on  Broadway  wouldn't 
break  up  a  rehearsal,  Frank.  But  that's  what  has 
happened  in  this  case.  Not  one  of  us  could  keep  our 
minds  on  what  we  were  saying." 


Squared  Off  and  All  Set 

"I'm  not  surprised.  Any  noise  of  an  evening  in 
this  place,  except  an  owl  hooting,  is  a  cause  for 
hysterics." 

She  walked  on  at  his  side.  "You're  disgusted  with 
our  poor  old  town,"  she  said,  plaintively. 

"I'm  going  to  leave.    Do  you  blame  me?" 

"I've  heard  about  the — whatever  it  was!" 

"That's  right!  Leave  it  unnamed — whatever  it 
was!" 

She  touched  his  arm  timidly.  "Please  be  kind — 
to  me — no  matter  how  much  cause  you  have  to  dis 
like  others  here." 

He  stopped,  put  his  arms  about  her,  and  drew  her 
into  a  close  embrace.  There  were  shadows  of 
buildings  where  they  stood;  no  one  was  near. 

"I  can't  do  my  best  here,  Vona.  You  understand 
it.  But  I  can't  go  away  and  do  the  best  that's  in  me 
unless  I  go  with  your  pledge  to  me." 

"You  have  it,  Frank!    The  pledge  of  all  my  love." 

"But  your  folks!  They  tell  me  your  father  is  at 
home." 

"I  have  said  nothing  to  father  and  mother — 
naturally.'*  She  smiled  up  at  him.  "I  have  never 
had  any  occasion  to  say  anything  to  them  about  my 
loving  anybody,  because  that  matter  has  never  come 
up  till  now." 

"I  am  going  home  with  you,"  he  said,  grimly, 
and  drew  her  along,  his  arm  linked  in  hers. 

"If  you  think  it  is  advisable  for  me  to  talk  with 

89 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

father  and  mother,  I'll  do  it — I'll  do  it  to-night,"  she 
volunteered,  courageously. 

"Vona,  I  never  want  to  feel  again  as  I  did  this 
afternoon  when  I  allowed  you  to  go  alone  on  an  er 
rand  that  concerned  us  both.  After  this,  I'm  going 
to  stand  up,  man  fashion,  and  do  the  talking  for  the 
two  of  us." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TWO   AGAINST   THE    FIELD 

AAR.  HARNDEN  had  not  had  a  bit  of  trouble 
*-  *  *  late  that  afternoon  in  securing  a  promise  from 
Tasper  Britt  to  give  him  audience  and  view  the 
plans  and  specifications  of  Mr.  Harnden's  latest 
invention.  In  fact,  the  consent  had  been  secured  so 
easily  that  Mr.  Harnden,  freshly  arrived  in  town  on 
Ike  Jones's  stage,  and  having  heard  no  Egypt  gossip 
during  a  prolonged  absence  from  home,  had  blinked 
at  Britt  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  expected  to 
find  a  door  held  against  him,  had  pushed  hard,  and 
had  tumbled  head  over  heels  when  nothing  opposed 
him. 

Mr.  Harnden  went  out  on  the  street  and  put  him 
self  in  the  way  of  hearing  some  gossip.  Then  he 
went  directly  back  into  Britt's  office  and  shook 
hands  with  the  money  king,  giving  Mr.  Britt  an  arch 
look  which  suggested  that  Mr.  Harnden  knew  a 
whole  lot  that  he  was  not  going  to  talk  about  right 
then.  He  said,  ascribing  the  idea  to  second  thought, 
that  it  might  be  cozier  and  handier  to  view  the  plans 
at  the  Harnden  home.  Mr.  Britt  agreed  with  a 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

heartiness  that  clinched  the  hopes  which  gossip  had 
given  Mr.  Harnden.  The  father  casually  said  he 
supposed,  of  course,  that  Vona  had  gone  home  long 
before  from  the  bank,  and  he  watched  Mr.  Britt's 
expression  when  the  banker  replied  to  a  question  as 
to  how  she  was  getting  on  with  her  work. 

"Yes,  siree,  she's  a  smart  girl,"  corroborated  the 
father,  "and  I  have  always  impressed  on  her  mind 
that  some  day  she  was  bound  to  rise  high  and  get 
what  she  deserves  to  have.  Come  early,  Tasper,  and 
we'll  make  a  pleasant  evening  of  it." 

Mr.  Britt  went  early,  but  not  early  enough  to 
catch  Vona  before  she  left  for  the  rehearsal. 

Although  it  had  been  particularly  easy  to  get  Mr. 
Britt  to  come  to  the  house,  Mr.  Harnden  was  not 
finding  it  easy  to  hold  his  prospective  backer's  at 
tention.  The  patent  project  under  consideration 
was  what  the  inventor  called  "a  duplex  door," 
designed  to  keep  kitchen  odors  from  dining  rooms. 
Mr.  Harnden  had  a  model  of  the  apparatus.  With 
his  forefinger  he  kept  tripping  the  doors,  showing 
how  a  person's  weight  operated  the  contrivance, 
shutting  the  doors  behind  and  simultaneously  open 
ing  the  doors  in  front;  but  Mr.  Harnden  did  not 
draw  attention  to  the  palpable  fact  that  a  waiter 
would  need  to  have  the  agility  of  a  flea  to  escape 
being  swatted  in  the  rear  or  banged  in  the  face. 

Mr.  Britt  watched  the  model's  operations  with 
lackluster  eyes;  he  seemed  to  be  looking  through  the 

92 


Two  Against  the  Field 

little  doors  and  at  something  else  that  was  not  visible 
to  the  inventor. 

Mr.  Harnden  was  short  and  roly-poly,  with  a  little 
round  mouth  and  big  round  eyes,  and  a  curlicue  of 
topknot  that  he  wagged  in  emphasis  as  a  unicorn 
might  brandish  his  horn.  Mr.  Harnden  considered 
that  he  was  a  good  talker.  He  was  considerably 
piqued  by  Britt's  apparent  failure  to  get  interested, 
although  the  banker  was  making  considerable  of  an 
effort  to  return  suitable  replies  when  the  inventor 
pinned  him  to  answers. 

"Suppose  I  go  over  the  whole  plan  again,  from  the 
start,"  suggested  Harnden. 

"Joe,  Mr.  Britt  looks  real  tired,"  protested  Mrs. 
Harnden  from  the  chimney  corner.  Her  querulous 
tone  fitted  her  lackadaisical  looks;  her  house  dress 
had  too  many  flounces  on  it;  she  had  a  paper- 
covered  novel  in  her  hand. 

"Yes,  I  am  tired,"  declared  Britt,  mournfully. 
"Sort  of  worn  out  and  all  discouraged.  I  feel  ter 
ribly  alone  in  this  world." 

"Too  bad!"  Mrs.  Harnden  cooed  her  sympathy, 
affectedly. 

"And  I've  been  through  hell's  torments  in  the  last 
few  hours,"  declared  Britt;  ire  succeeded  his  dolor. 

"You  must  try  to  forget  how  those  ingrates  have 
abused  you,  Mr.  Britt.  This  is  a  beautiful  story  I 
have  just  finished.  You  must  take  it  with  you  and 
read  it.  The  love  sentiment  is  simply  elegant.  And 

93 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

it  speaks  of  the  sheltering  walls  of  the  home  making 
a  haven  for  the  wounded  heart.  I  hope  you  have 
found  this  home  a  haven  to-night."  She  rose  and 
crossed  to  him  and  laid  the  novel  in  his  hands. 

Mr.  Harnden  shoved  his  own  hands  into  his 
trousers  pockets,  throwing  back  his  coat  from  his 
comfortable  frontal  convexity.  He  presented  a  sort 
of  full-rigged  effect — giving  the  appearance  of  one 
of  those  handy-Jack  "Emergency  Eddies"  who 
make  personal  equipment  a  fad:  the  upper  pockets 
of  his  waistcoat  bristled  with  pencils  and  showed  the 
end  of  a  folded  rule  and  some  calipers.  He  had  all 
sorts  of  chains  disappearing  into  various  pockets — 
chains  for  keys  and  knife  and  cigar  cutter  and  patent 
lighter.  "Tasper,"  he  advised,  briskly,  "seeing  that 
you're  now  in  a  happy  haven,  as  the  wife  says,  why 
waste  time  and  temper  on  this  town?  The  only 
reason  why  I  have  kept  my  home  here  is  because  the 
town  is  solid  rock  and  makes  a  good  jumping-off 
place  for  me;  I  can  get  a  firm  toe  hold.  Why  do 
you  bother  with  a  little  dinky  office  like  the  one 
you  started  out  for?  With  your  money  and  general 
eminence  you  can  be  the  Governor  of  our  state.  Sure ! 
I  know  all  the  men  in  this  state.  I've  made  it  my 
business  to  know  'em.  Let  me  be  your  manager  and 
I'll  make  you  Governor  like" — Mr.  Harnden  yanked 
out  one  hand  and  tripped  the  doors  of  the  model 
with  a  loud  snap — "like  that!  Open  goes  the  door 
to  honors — bang  goes  the  door  against  enemies!" 

94 


Two  Against  the  Field 

Mr.  Britt  glanced  at  the  title  of  the  story  in  his 
hands — The  Flowers  Along  Life's  Pathway — and 
perked  up  a  bit  as  if  he  saw  an  opportunity  to  pluck 
some  of  those  flowers.  But  when  Mr.  Harnden  went 
on  to  say  that  politics  was  not  as  expensive — with 
the  right  manager — as  some  folks  supposed,  Mr. 
Britt  exhibited  gloomy  doubt.  "A  home  is  about  all 
I  have  in  mind  right  now,"  he  declared.  "A  man  has 
got  to  have  a  happy  home  before  his  mind  is  free  for 
big  plans." 

"My  experience  exactly!"  stated  Mr.  Harnden, 
graciously  indicating  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  the 
happy  home  which  he  rarely  graced.  "And  knowing 
what  I  do  about  the  help  a  good  home  gives  an  enter 
prising  man,  you've  got  my  full  co-operation  in  your 
efforts,  Tasper." 

They  heard  the  hall  door  open. 

"It's  Vona,"  announced  Mrs.  Harnden.  She 
beamed  on  Britt.  "I  wonder  why  the  dear  girl  is 
coming  home  so  early." 

The  caller's  face  lighted  up  with  the  effect  of  an 
arc  lamp  going  into  action. 

But  when  the  sitting-room  door  opened  and  Vona 
escorted  Vaniman  in  ahead  of  her,  Britt's  illuminated 
expression  instantly  became  the  red  glare  of  rage 
instead  of  the  white  light  of  hope.  He  leaped  to  his 
feet. 

The  situation  made  for  embarrassment  of  over 
whelming  intensity;  there  was  no  detail  of  the  affair 

95 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

in  front  of  Usial's  cot  that  had  not  been  canvassed 
by  every  mouth  in  Egypt,  including  the  mouths  of  the 
Harnden  home. 

Vaniman  made  the  first  move.  He  bowed  to  Mrs. 
Harnden;  he  knew  the  mother;  she  had  called  on 
Vona  in  the  bank.  "May  I  meet  your  father?"  he 
asked  the  girl. 

Vona  presented  him,  recovering  her  composure 
by  the  aid  of  Frank's  steadiness. 

"How-de-do!"  said  Mr.  Harnden,  stiffly.  He  did 
not  ask  the  caller  to  be  seated.  Vona  gave  the  invi 
tation.  While  Vaniman  hesitated,  the  master  of  the 
household  had  a  word  to  say,  putting  on  his  best 
business  air.  "Ordinarily,  young  man,  the  latch- 
string  of  my  home  is  out  and  the  boys  and  the  girls 
are  welcome  here  to  make  merry  in  a  sociable  way." 
Mr.  Harnden  was  distinctly  patronizing,  with  an  air 
that  put  Frank  into  the  intruding-urchin  class. 
"But  it  so  happens  that  this  evening  Banker  Britt 
has  seized  the  opportunity  of  my  being  in  town  and 
he  and  I  are  in  close  conference  regarding  an  im 
portant  matter  in  the  investment  line.  You'll  excuse 
us,  I'm  sure." 

It  was  certainly  no  moment  to  go  tilting  in  the 
field  of  Love,  'and  Frank,  though  undaunted,  was 
deferential;  and  he  was  compelled  to  recognize  the 
father's  rights  as  master  of  the  household.  He 
bowed  and  turned  to  leave,  carefully  keeping  his 
eyes  off  Britt. 

96 


Two  Against  the  Field 

But  Vona  had  her  word  to  say  then;  her  foot  was 
on  the  heath  of  home;  she  had  that  advantage  over 
Frank.  Moreover,  she  was  moved  by  the  instinct 
of  self-protection;  she  did  not  relish  the  notion  of 
being  left  alone  with  that  trio. 

"We  can  kindle  a  fire  in  the  front  room,  father!" 

"There  hasn't  been  a  fire  in  that  room  all  winter, 
dear  girl."  Mrs.  Harnden's  protest  was  sweetly 
firm.  "No  one  shall  run  the  chance  of  catching  a 
cold." 

"Exactly!  It's  tricky  weather,  and  we  must  be 
careful  of  our  guests,"  agreed  Mr.  Harnden.  "Call 
again,  young  sir!" 

"I  will,"  stated  Vaniman.  He  turned  and  ad 
dressed  Vona.  "The  little  matter  will  take  no  harm 
if  it's  postponed  till  to-morrow,"  he  told  her.  His 
gaze  was  tender — and  the  girl  looked  up  at  him  with 
an  expression  which  even  a  careless  observer  would 
have  found  telltale.  Britt's  vision  was  sharpened  by 
such  jealous  venom  that  he  would  have  misconstrued 
even  innocent  familiarity.  He  had  been  struggling 
with  his  passion  ever  since  Vaniman  had  appeared, 
escorting  the  girl  in  from  the  night  where  the  two 
had  been  alone  together.  Age's  ugly  resentment  at 
being  supplanted  by  youth  was  sufficiently  provoca 
tive  in  this  case  where  Britt  ardently  longed,  and 
had  promised  himself  what  he  desired;  but  to  that 
provocation  was  added  the  stinging  memory  of  the 
blow  dealt  that  day  by  Youth's  hand  across  Age's 

97 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

withered  mouth;  he  licked  the  swollen  lips  with  a 
rabid  tongue.  He  beheld  the  two  young  folks  ex 
changing  looks  that  gave  to  their  simple  words  an 
import  which  roused  all  his  fury.  Britt  shook  him 
self  free  from  all  restraint.  He  had  been  assured  by 
the  Harndens  that  their  home  was  his  haven;  he 
took  advantage  of  that  assurance  and  of  the  young 
man's  more  dubious  standing  in  the  household. 

Britt  was  holding  to  the  paper-covered  novel — it 
was  doubled  in  his  ireful  grip  and  its  title  showed 
plainly  above  his  ridged  hand — a  particularly  in 
felicitous  title  it  seemed  to  be  under  the  circum 
stances,  because  Britt  was  shaking  the  book  like  a 
cudgel  and  his  demeanor  was  that  of  a  man  who  was 
clutching  thorns  instead  of  flowers.  He  advanced 
on  Frank  and  his  voice  made  harsh  clamor  in  the 
little  room.  "You'd  better  not  take  on  any  more 
engagements  for  to-morrow,  Vaniman.  You'll  be 
mighty  busy  with  me,  winding  up  our  business 
together." 

"Very  well,  sir.  And  suppose  we  leave  all  matters 
between  us  until  then!" 

But  Britt  had  started  to  run  wild  and  was  galloping 
under  the  whip  of  fury.  He  had  been  doing  some 
amazing  things  that  day — he  had  written  verse,  he 
had  blubbered  foolishly  with  a  girl  looking  on,  and 
he  had  horsewhipped  his  twin  brother  before  the  eyes 
of  the  populace — but  what  he  did  next  was  more 
amazing  than  all  the  rest.  Having  sourly  admitted 

98 


Two  Against  the  Field 

to  himself  that  he  was  a  coward  when  he  was  alone 
with  the  girl,  he  took  advantage  of  this  moment 
when  his  choleric  desperation  gave  him  fictitious 
courage.  He  slashed  into  the  situation  with  what 
weapons  he  had  at  hand — and  he  held  a  reserve 
weapon,  so  he  thought,  in  the  big  wallet  that  thrust 
its  bulk  reassuringly  against  his  breast.  "This  thing 
seems  to  have  come  to  a  climax;  and  it  ain't  through 
any  fault  of  mine.  I've  never  yet  been  afraid  to  talk 
for  myself,  in  a  climax,  and  I  ain't  afraid  now.  The 
time  to  do  business  is  when  you've  got  your  interested 
parties  assembled — and  the  five  folks  in  this  room — 
the  whole  five — may  not  be  collected  together  again,'* 
he  stated,  with  vengeful  significance,  looking  hard  at 
Vaniman.  Then  he  whirled  on  the  girl.  "Vona,  I 
want  to  marry  you.  You  know  it.  Your  folks  know 
it.  It's  all  understood,  even  if  it  hasn't  been  put  into 
words.  I'll  give  you  everything  that  money  will  buy. 
When  you  get  me  you  know  what  you're  getting.  I 
put  the  question  to  you  right  here  and  now,  before 
your  home  folks,  and  that  shows  you  what  kind  of  a 
square  man  I  am.  I  don't  sneak  in  dark  corners." 
He  accused  her  escort  with  a  glowering  side-glance. 

The  girl,  pale,  trembling,  thrown  off  her  poise  by 
this  astounding  method  of  wooing,  turned  to  her 
mother  with  a  girl's  instinctive  quest  for  counsel  and 
sympathy. 

Mrs.  Harnden  simpered. 

Vona  had  never  found  her  mother  an  especially 

99 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

stable  support  in  times  of  stress,  but  the  girl  did  feel 
that  the  maternal  spirit  might  arise  and  help  in  an 
emergency  as  vital  as  that  one!  Mrs.  Harnden,  how 
ever,  was  gazing  into  the  arena  and  was  blandly 
indicating  by  her  demeanor,  "Thumbs  down!'* 

Then  the  girl  appealed  to  her  father,  mutely  eager; 
denied  sympathy,  she  was  asking  for  protection. 
But  Mr.  Harnden  was  distinctly  not  extending  pro 
tection.  He  was  looking  at  Mr.  Britt.  By  avoiding 
what  he  knew  the  girl  wras  asking  for  with  all  her 
soul  in  her  eyes,  Mr.  Harnden  was  indulging  his  con 
sistent  selfishness;  he  hated  to  be  worried  by  the 
troubles  of  others;  others'  woes  placed  brambles  on 
the  pathway  of  his  optimism. 

"Tasper,  you  have  certainly  jumped  the  Harnden 
family — jumped  us  complete!  You  can't  expect  a 
girl  to  get  her  voice  back  right  away.  But  I  suppose 
it's  up  to  me  to  speak  for  the  family." 

Vaniman  stepped  into  the  center  of  the  room. 
"I  suppose  so,  too,  Mr.  Harnden.  I'll  confess  that 
I  came  into  your  house  this  evening  with  that  idea 
in  my  mind." 

Now  the  girl  had  eyes  only  for  the  one  whom  she 
recognized  as  her  real  champion;  those  eyes  wrould 
have  inspired  a  knight  to  any  sort  of  derring-do, 
Frank  was  telling  himself. 

"That  being  agreed,  I'll  speak,"  stated  Mr.  Harn 
den,  throwing  back  his  coat  lapels  and  displaying 
all  his  pencil  quills. 

100 


Two  Against  the  Field 

"Just  one  moment,  sir,  till  I  have  shown  that  Mr. 
Britt  has  no  monopoly  on  courage — seeing  that  he 
has  put  invasion  of  a  quiet  home  on  that  plane.  I 
love  your  daughter.  I  want  her  for  my  wife.  I  came 
here  to  tell  you  so;  but  I  was  putting  politeness 
ahead  of  my  anxiety  after  you  told  me  that  you  were 
engaged." 

"Harnden,  that  man  hasn't  a  cent  in  the  world," 
Britt  declared.  "He  sends  away  every  sou  markee 
he  can  spare  from  his  salary.  He  buys  checks  from 
me.  I  can  show  'em."  Out  came  Britt's  big  wallet; 
he  threw  down  the  paper-covered  novel. 

"I  support  my  mother  and  I'm  putting  my  young 
sister  through  school,"  admitted  the  cashier.  "Mr. 
Britt  is  right.  But  every  time  I  buy  one  of  his  checks 
I  buy  a  lot  of  honest  comfort  for  myself." 

"I  think,  young  man,  that  the  Harnden  family 
better  not  interfere  with  the  comfort  of  the  Vaniman 
family,"  averred  the  father,  loftily.  "I'd  hate  to 
think  I  was  a  party  to  taking  bread  from  the  mouths 
of  a  mother  and  a  sister.  I'm  sure  Vona  feels  the 
same  way." 

"Certainly!"  supplemented  Mrs.  Harnden.  "I 
understand  a  woman's  feelings  in  such  a  matter." 

"Furthermore,  I  have  discharged  Vaniman  for 
good  and  sufficient  reasons,"  said  President 
Britt.  "He  stands  there  busted  and  without  a 
job." 

"That  is  quite  true,"  Vaniman  admitted.  "I 
101 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

cannot  remain  with  the  Egypt  Trust  Company,  but 
that's  a  matter  quite  of  my  own  choice." 

"Oh,  it  is,  is  it?"  scoffed  the  president. 

"Yes,  sir!    I've  had  quite  enough  of  your  society." 

"Therefore,  it  seems  to  me  that  there  isn't  much 
more  to  be  said — not  here — in  a  home  that  we  try 
to  make  peaceful  and  happy  at  all  times,"  said  Mr. 
Harnden,  pompously. 

"But  there's  something  more  I'm  going  to  say!" 
Britt  was  proceeding  with  malice  in  tones  and  mien. 
He  had  been  waving  the  canceled  checks.  He  pulled 
another  paper  from  the  wallet.  "You  think  the 
directors  would  keep  you  on  in  that  job,  do  you, 
Vaniman,  if  you  forced  the  issue?" 

"I  do!  Jealousy  and  petty  spite  would  not  show 
up  very  strong  in  a  board  meeting,  Mr.  Britt." 

Britt  shook  the  paper.     "How  would  this  show 

5  " 

up: 

Vaniman  did  not  lose  his  composure.  "Why  don't 
you  read  it  aloud?  You  have  stirred  curiosity  in 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harnden,  I  see." 

"And  I'll  stir  something  else  in  a  girl  you're  trying 
to  fool!  But  I'm  going  to  save  this  letter  for  that 
board  meeting;  I'll  have  you  fired  by  a  regular  vote 
— and  I'll  send  the  record  of  that  vote  to  every  bank 
in  this  part  of  the  country.  Then  see  how  far  you'll 
get  with  your  lies  about  my  jealousy!"  Britt  was 
plainly  determined  to  allow  guesswork  to  deal  in  the 
blackest  construction  regarding  the  letter. 

102 


Two  Against  the  Field 

Vaniman  turned  his  back  on  the  others.  He 
talked  directly  to  Vona.  The  agonized  query  in  her 
eyes  demanded  a  reply  from  him.  "Mr.  Britt  has 
in  his  hand  a  letter  from  some  banking  friend  of  his. 
The  letter  says  that  my  father  was  sentenced  to  the 
penitentiary,  charged  with  embezzlement.  That  is 
so.  My  father  died  there.  But  it  was  wicked  injus 
tice.  You  and  your  father  and  mother  are  entitled 
to  know  that  an  honest  man  was  made  a  scapegoat." 

"Excuse  me!"  broke  in  Harnden.  "We  are  out 
siders  and  will  probably  remain  so,  and  have  no 
hankering  to  pry  into  family  matters." 

"I  did  not  intend  to  tell  the  story  now,  Mr. 
Harnden.  It's  too  sacred  a  matter  to  be  discussed  in 
the  presence  of  that  man  who  stands  there  trying 
to  make  a  club  of  the  thing  to  ruin  my  hopes  and  my 
life.  This  is  a  hateful  situation.  I  apologize.  But 
he  has  forced  me  to  speak  out,  as  I  have  done,  telling 
you  and  your  wife  of  my  love  for  Vona." 

"I  don't  see  how  you  dare  to  speak  of  it,  seeing 
what  the  circumstances  are,"  declared  the  father; 
there  was  a  murmur  of  corroboration  from  the 
mother. 

"It's  a  cheeky  insult  to  all  concerned,"  shouted 
Britt. 

"No,  it's  my  best  attempt  to  be  honest  and  open 
and  a  man,"  insisted  Vaniman.  "I  have  left  no 
chance  for  gossip  to  bring  tales  to  you,  Mr.  Harnden." 

But  Mr.  Harnden  sliced  the  air  with  a  hand  that 
8  103 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

sought  to  sever  further  conference.  "Absolutely 
impossible,  young  man." 

"Vona's  prospects  must  not  be  ruined  by  any 
body's  selfishness,"  stated  Mrs.  Harnden. 

In  his  eagerness,  encouraged  by  this  parental 
backing,  Mr.  Britt  did  not  employ  a  happy  meta 
phor.  "It  has  been  my  rule,  in  the  case  of  bitter 
medicine,  to  take  it  quick  and  have  the  agony  over 
with."  He  put  all  the  appeal  he  could  muster  into 
his  gaze  at  Vona.  "That's  why  I  have  sprung  the 
thing  this  evening,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  I 
ain't  either  young  or  handsome,  Vona.  I  know  my 
shortcomings.  But  I've  got  everything  to  make  you 
happy;  all  you've  got  to  do  is  turn  around  and  take 
me  as  your  husband  and  make  me  and  your  folks 
happy,  too." 

Mr.  Harnden's  optimism  bobbed  up  with  its  usual 
serenity.  "We're  making  a  whole  lot  out  of  a  little, 
come  to  think  it  over!"  He  turned  to  Vona,  feeling 
that  he  was  fortified  against  any  appeal  he  might 
find  in  her  eyes. 

In  the  silence  that  she  had  imposed  on  herself 
while  her  champion  was  battling  she  had  been 
gathering  courage,  piling  up  the  ammunition  of 
resolution.  Love  lighted  her  eyes  and  flung  out  its 
signal  banners  of  challenge  on  her  cheeks. 

"Why,  our  girl  has  never  said  that  she  is  in  love 
with  anybody,"  prated  the  father. 

"I'll  say  it  now,  when  there's  a  good  reason  for 
104 


Two  Against  the  Field 

saying  it,"  cried  the  girl,  her  tones  thrilling  the  lis 
teners.  "I'll  say  it  in  my  own  way  to  the  one  who  is 
entitled  to  know,  and  you  may  listen,  father  and 
mother!" 

She  went  to  Frank,  stretching  her  hands  to  him, 
and  he  took  them  in  his  grasp.  "I  understand!  I 
can  wait,"  she  told  him.  "And  when  the  time  comes 
and  you  call  to  me,  I'll  say,  as  Ruth  said,  'Entreat 
me  not  to  leave  thee,  or  to  return  from  following 
after  thee;  for  whither  thou  goest,  I  will  go;  and 
where  thou  lodgest,  I  will  lodge;  thy  people  shall 
be  my  people,  and  thy  God  my  God."  Impulsively, 
heeding  only  him,  she  threw  her  arms  around  his 
neck  and  kissed  him.  Then  she  ran  from  the  room. 

And  rinding  the  light  gone  out  of  the  place,  Frank 
groped  to  the  door,  like  a  blind  man  feeling  his  way, 
and  departed. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    NIGHT   BROUGHT   COUNSEL 

AAR.  BRITT,  left  with  the  father  and  mother,  got 
•*•  *  his  voice  first  because  he  had  been  pricked 
most  deeply;  furthermore,  the  girl's  method  of  ex 
pression  had  touched  him  on  the  spot  which  had 
been  abraded  by  Prophet  Elias's  daily  rasping. 

The  suitor  drove  his  fist  down  on  the  center  table 
with  a  force  that  caused  the  model  of  Mr.  Harnden's 
doors  to  jump  and  snap.  "By  the  joo-dinged,  hump 
backed  Hosea,  I've  just  about  got  to  my  limit  in  this 
text  business!" 

"The  dear  girl  is  all  wrought  up.  She  don't  realize 
what  she's  saying.  I'll  run  up  to  her  room  and 
reason  with  her.  Don't  mind  what  a  girl  says  in  a 
tantrum,  Mr.  Britt,"  Mrs.  Harnden  pleaded. 

Mr.  Britt,  left  with  the  father,  began  to  stride 
back  and  forth  across  the  room.  The  title  of  the 
book  jeered  up  at  him  from  the  carpet  where  he  had 
tossed  the  volume;  he  kicked  the  book  under  the 
table. 

"The  wife  said  a  whole  lot  just  now,"  affirmed 
Mr.  Harnden,  soothingly.  "Consider  where  the  girl 

1 06 


The  Night  Brought  Counsel 

has  been  this  evening,  Tasper!  Off  elocuting  dra 
matic  stuff!  Comes  back  full  of  high-flown  nonsense. 
Gets  off  something  that  was  running  in  her  head. 
Torched  on  by  that  fly-by-night  who'll  be  getting 
out  of  town  and  wTho'll  be  forgotten  inside  a  week. 
Where's  your  optimism?"  He  reached  up  and 
slapped  Britt's  back  when  the  banker  passed  him. 

"She  is  in  love  with  him,"  complained  the  suitor; 
his  anger  was  succeeded  by  woe;  his  face  "squizzled" 
as  if  he  were  about  to  weep  a  second  time  that  day. 

"Piffle!  She'd  be  a  queer  girl  if  she  didn't  have 
the  usual  run  of  childish  ailments,  along  with  the 
whooping  cough  and  the  measles.  I  have  always 
known  how  to  manage  my  womenfolks,  Tasper. 
Not  by  threats  and  by  tumulting  around  as  you  have 
been  doing!  You've  got  a  lot  to  learn.  Listen  to 
me!" 

Mr.  Britt  paused  and  blinked  and  listened. 

Mr.  Harnden  plucked  out  a  pencil  and  made  be 
lieve  write  a  screed  on  the  palm  of  his  hand  while  he 
talked.  "By  the  twining  tendrils  of  their  affections 
you  can  sway  'em  to  and  fro,'  as  the  poet  said, 
speaking  of  women.  I  am  loved  in  my  home.  I 
have  important  prospects,  now  that  you  are  backing 
me." 

Mr.  Britt  blinked  more  energetically,  but  he  did 
not  dispute. 

"Another  poet  has  said  that  it's  all  right  to  lie 
for  love's  sake — or  words  to  that  effect.  I  know  the 

107 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

right  line  of  talk  to  give  Vona.  And  I  won't  have  to 
lie  such  a  great  lot  to  make  her  know  how  bad  off  I 
am  right  now.  She  has  always  had  a  lot  of  sympathy 
for  me,"  declared  Mr.  Harnden,  complacently.  "I 
may  as  well  cash  in  on  it.  She  won't  ruin  a  loving 
father  and  a  happy  home  when  she  wakes  up  after  a 
good  cry  on  the  wife's  shoulder  and  gets  her  second 
wind  and  understands  where  she's  at  in  this  thing. 
Tasper,  you  sit  down  there  in  a  comfortable  chair 
and  let  me  rub  on  some  optimism  anodyne  where 
you're  smarting  the  worst." 

When  Mrs.  Harnden  came  into  the  room  a  half 
hour  later  she  looked  promptly  relieved  to  find  Mr. 
Britt  in  such  a  calm  mood;  when  she  had  hurried 
out  he  was  acting  as  if  he  were  intending  to  kick  the 
furniture  about  the  place. 

"A  good  cry — and  all  at  peace,  eh? — and  a  new 
view  of  things  in  the  morning?"  purred  the  optimist 
in  the  way  of  query. 

"She  didn't  cry,"  reported  the  mother,  with  a 
disconsolateness  that  did  not  agree  with  the  cheering 
words  of  the  report. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  remarked  Mr.  Harnden,  opti 
mism  unspecked.  "That  shows  she  is  taking  a  com 
mon-sense  view  and  is  using  her  head.  What  says 
she?" 

"I  may  as  well  post  you  on  how  the  matter  stands, 
Mr.  Britt.  By  being  honest  all  'round  we  can  operate 
together  better." 

1 08 


The  Night  Brought  Counsel 

Britt  agreed  by  an  emphatic  nod. 

After  an  inhalation  which  suggested  the  charging 
of  an  air  gun,  Mrs.  Harnden  pulled  the  verbal 
trigger.  "Vona  says  she  is  all  through  at  the 
bank." 

"Oh,  I  know  my  girl,"  said  Mr.  Harnden,  airily. 
"I'll  handle  her  when  morning's  light  is  bright,  and 
forgotten  is  the  night!" 

"I  thought  I  knew  my  girl,  too,"  the  mother  de 
clared,  gloomily.  "But  I  guess  I  don't.  I  never 
saw  her  stiffen  up  like  this  before.  She  sat  and  looked 
at  me,  and  I  felt  like  a  cushion  being  jabbed  by  a 
couple  of  hatpins — if  there's  any  such  thing  as  a 
cushion  having  feelings."  Mrs.  Harnden,  settling 
her  flounces,  a  soft  and  sighing  example  of  "a 
languishing  Lydia,"  was  as  unfortunate  in  her 
metaphor  as  Britt  had  been  when  he  mentioned  a 
bitter  medicine. 

"Tell  her  that  I'll  pay  her  ten  dollars  more  a 
week,"  said  President  Britt,  looking  desperate. 
"She  mustn't  leave  me  in  the  lurch." 

"She'll  do  it!  Nothing  to  worry  about!"  affirmed 
the  father.  "And  I'll  grab  in  as  cashier  till  my  bigger 
projects  get  started.  I've  got  a  natural  knack  for 
handling  money,  Tasper." 

The  banker  winced. 

"We  can  make  it  all  snug,  right  in  the  family,"  in 
sisted  Harnden.  He  jumped  up,  opened  the  door 
into  the  hallway,  and  called.  He  kept  calling,  his 

109 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

tones  growing  more  emphatic,  till  the  girl  replied 
from  abovestairs. 

"  She's  coming  down,"  reported  the  general 
manager  of  the  household,  taking  his  stand  in  front 
of  the  fireplace.  He  pulled  on  a  chain  and  dragged 
out  a  bunch  of  keys  and  whirled  them  like  a  David 
taking  aim  with  a  sling. 

Vona  came  no  farther  than  the  doorway,  and  stood 
framed  there. 

"What's  this  last  nonsense — that  you  won't  go  to 
your  work  in  the  morning?" 

"Your  pay  is  raised  ten  dollars  a  week,  starting 
to-morrow,"  supplemented  Britt,  appealingly. 

But  there  was  no  compromise  in  the  girl's  mien. 
"Mr.  Britt,  I  realize  perfectly  well  that  I  ought  to 
give  you  due  notice — the  usual  two  weeks.  That 
would  be  the  honorable  business  wray.  But  you 
have  set  the  example  of  disregarding  business  meth 
ods,  in  your  treatment  of  Mr.  Vaniman.  You 
mustn't  blame  others  for  doing  as  you're  doing. 
Therefore  I  positively  will  not  come  into  the  bank, 
as  conditions  are.  As  I  feel  to-night  I  shall  feel  to 
morrow!  If  you,  or  my  father  and  mother,  think 
you  can  change  my  mind  on  the  matter,  you'll  merely 
waste  your  arguments." 

That  time  she  did  not  run  away.  She  surveyed 
them  in  turn,  leisurely  and  perfectly  self-possessed. 
Even  the  optimist  recognized  inflexibility  when  he 
was  bumped  against  it  hard  enough!  She  stepped 

no 


The  Night  Brought  Counsel 

backward,  challenging  reply,  but  they  were  silent, 
and  she  went  upstairs. 

"Still,  nobody  knows  what  the  morning  may  bring 
forth,"  persisted  Harnden,  after  waiting  for  some 
body  else  to  speak.  "As  I  have  said,  I  have  a 
knack—" 

"Of  blowing  up  paper  bags  and  listening  to  'em 
bust!"  snarled  the  banker,  permitting  himself,  at 
least,  to  express  his  real  opinion  of  a  man  whom  he 
had  always  held  to  be  an  impractical  nincompoop. 
"If  you  count  cash  the  way  you  count  chickens  before 
they're  hatched,  you'd  make  a  paper  bag  out  of  my 
bank.  I'll  bid  you  good  night!" 

He  wrenched  away  from  Harnden's  restraining 
hands  and  shook  himself  under  the  shower  of  the 
optimist's  pattering  words,  as  a  dog  would  shake 
off  rain.  In  the  hall  he  pulled  on  his  overcoat  and 
turned  up  the  collar,  for  the  words  still  pattered. 
He  went  out  into  the  night  and  slammed  the  door. 

Britt  began  his  program  of  general  anathema  by 
shaking  his  fist  at  the  Harnden  house  after  he  had 
reached  the  street.  He  shook  his  fist  at  the  other 
houses  along  the  way  as  he  went  tramping  in  the 
middle  of  the  road  toward  his  home.  He  even 
brandished  his  fist  at  his  own  statue  in  the  fa9ade  of 
Britt  Block.  The  moonlight  revealed  the  complacent 
features;  the  cocky  pose  of  serene  confidence  pre 
sented  by  the  effigy  affected  the  disheartened 
original  with  as  acute  a  sense  of  exasperation  as  he 

in 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

would  have  felt  if  the  statue  had  set  thumb  to  nose 
and  had  wriggled  the  stone  fingers  in  impish  derision. 

"Gid-dap"  Jones  and  a  few  citizens  who  could 
not  make  up  their  minds  to  go  to  bed  till  they  had 
sucked  all  the  sweetness  out  of  an  extraordinary 
evening  in  Egypt,  were  walking  up  and  down  the 
tavern  porch,  cooling  off.  Mr.  Britt,  tramping  past, 
shook  his  fist  at  them,  too. 

"Hope  you  enjoyed  the  music!"  suggested  Jones, 
wrought  up  to  a  pitch  where  he  would  not  be  bull 
dozed  even  by  "Phay-ray-oh." 

"Yes,  and  I  hope  we'll  have  some  more  to-morrow 
night,"  retorted  the  banker.  "You  still  have  the 
poorhouse,  the  cattle  pound,  and  the  lockup  to 
serenade." 

"All  right!  Which  one  of  'em  do  you  expect  to 
be  in?"  inquired  Jones.  "We  wouldn't  have  you 
miss  a  tune  for  the  world!" 

When  Britt  arrived  in  the  shadows  of  his  own 
porch  he  stood  and  looked  out  over  Egypt  and  cursed 
the  people,  in  detail  and  in  toto.  He  had  become  a 
monomaniac.  He  had  set  himself  to  accomplish  one 
fell  purpose. 

In  his  office,  earlier  that  day,  he  had  resolved  upon 
revenge;  but  his  natural  caution  had  served  as  a 
leash,  and  he  had  pondered  on  no  definite  plans  that 
might  prove  dangerous.  Now  only  one  fear  beset 
him — the  fear  that  he  would  not  be  able  to  think  up 
and  put  through  a  sufficiently  devilish  program. 

112 


The  Night  Brought  Counsel 

He  banged  his  door  behind  him  and  lighted  a 
lamp  which  he  kept  on  a  stand  in  the  hall.  He 
creaked  upstairs  in  the  lonely  house.  His  sense  of 
loneliness  was  increased  when  he  reflected  that  Vona 
would  not  be  at  her  desk  in  the  morning. 

The  village  watchman  noted  that  the  reflector  lamp 
shone  all  night  on  the  door  of  the  vault  in  the  Egypt 
Trust  Company;  it  was  the  watchman's  business  to 
keep  track  of  that  light.  But  he  noted  also,  outside 
of  his  regular  business,  that  there  was  a  light  for  most 
of  the  night  in  Tasper  Britt's  bedroom. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   MAN   WHO   WAS    SORRY 

TT  was  a  heavy  dawn,  next  day;  a  thaw  had  set  in 
•*•  and  a  drizzle  of  rain  softened  the  snow;  gray 
clouds  trailed  their  draperies  across  the  top  of 
Burkett  Hill. 

Landlord  Files  had  trouble  in  getting  his  kitchen 
fire  started — in  the  sluggish  air  the  draught  was  bad. 
Mr.  Files 's  spirits  were  as  heavy  as  the  air.  He 
knew  it  was  up  to  him  to  be  the  first  man  in  Egypt 
to  come  in  contact  with  Tasper  Britt  that  morning. 

Stage-driver  Jones  had  an  early  breakfast,  for  he 
had  to  be  off  with  the  mail.  Mr.  Jones  had  been  up 
late,  for  him,  and  he  was  grouchy.  In  the  matter  of 
the  warfare  on  Pharaoh  his  mood  seemed  to  be  less 
assertive  than  it  had  been  the  night  before.  Mr. 
Files  detected  that  much  after  some  conversation 
while  the  breakfast  was  served. 

"All  you  have  to  do  is  'gid-dap'  and  get  away," 
said  Files,  sourly.  "I  have  to  stay  here  on  my  job 
and  be  the  first  to  meet  him  and  get  the  brunt  of  the 
whole  thing.  And  I  condoned,  as  you  might  say,  and 

as  he'll  probably  feel.     I  let  my  porch  be  used  for 

114 


The  Man  Who  Was  Sorry 

meeting  and  mobbing,  as  you  might  say.  And  he 
ketched  me  grinning  over  his  shoulder  when  I  read 
them  heading  words  after  that  old  lunkhead  of  a 
Prophet  passed  him  the  paper." 

"Shut  up!"  remarked  Driver  Jones,  stabbing  a 
potato. 

"I  owe  him  money — and  I  let  my  porch  be  used — " 

"Figure  out  the  wear  and  tear  on  the  planks  and 
pass  me  the  bill.  Now  shut  up  and  don't  spoil  my 
vittles  any  more  'n  you  have  done  in  the  way  of 
cooking  'em." 

Mr.  Files,  left  alone  to  meet  Britt,  resolved  to 
hand  that  tyrant  a  partial  sop  by  having  breakfast 
on  the  table  the  moment  the  regular  boarder  un 
folded  his  napkin;  food  might  stop  Britt's  mouth 
to  some  extent,  the  landlord  reflected. 

Result  of  this  precautionary  courtesy!  The  break 
fast  was  a  mess  when  Britt  arrived,  a  half  hour  late. 
Mr.  Files  had  depended  on  his  boarder's  invariable 
punctuality  and  had  been  obliged  to  keep  "hotting 
up"  the  food,  watching  the  clock  with  increasing 
despair. 

Britt  smiled  on  the  landlord  when  they  faced 
each  other  in  the  dining  room.  The  smile  made  the 
landlord  shiver.  He  was  dreading  the  explosion. 
He  set  on  the  viands  as  timidly  as  a  child  holding 
out  peanuts  to  an  elephant.  Mr.  Britt  beamed 
blandly  and  spoke  of  the  change  in  the  weather  and 
said  he  was  hoping  that  "Old  Reliable  Ike  wouldn't 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

be  bothered  too  much  by  the  soft  footing  on  his  way 
to  Levant." 

Mr.  Files  gasped  when  he  heard  this  consideration 
expressed  for  the  ringleader  of  the  evening's  demon 
stration.  He  recovered  sufficiently  to  start  in  on  an 
explanation  of  the  condition  of  the  food. 

"It's  all  right,  Files!    It's  my  fault.    I  overslept." 

Britt  ate  for  a  few  minutes;  then  he  suspended 
operations  and  looked  Files  hard  in  the  face;  that 
face,  as  to  mouth,  was  as  widely  open  as  the  coun 
tenance  of  the  office  alligator.  "I  did  a  whole  lot  of 
thinking  last  night,  Files.  I'm  telling  you  first,  like 
I  propose  to  tell  others  in  Egypt  as  I  come  in  contact 
with  'em  during  the  day — it  has  been  my  fault — how 
things  have  happened!  The  night  brings  counsel! 
Yes,  sir,  it  surely  does."  He  went  on  eating. 

"Mr.  Britt,  I  was  afraid—" 

Pharaoh  waved  his  knife  expostulatingly.  "I 
know  it,  Files!  Your  face  told  me  the  whole  story 
when  I  stepped  in  here.  But  I'm  a  changed  man.  I 
know  when  I'm  down.  However,  it's  my  own  fault, 
I  repeat.  I  stubbed  my  toe  over  the  trigs  I  had  set 
in  the  way  by  my  own  operations.  I  deserve  what 
I'm  getting — and  the  lesson  will  make  me  a  different 
man  from  now  on." 

Mr.  Files  staggered  out  into  the  kitchen  in  order 
to  be  alone  with  his  thoughts. 

Britt  spent  a  longer  time  than  usual  in  the  tavern 
office  after  breakfast;  he  smoked  two  cigars,  him- 

116 


The  Man  Who  Was  Sorry 

self,  and  gave  a  cigar  to  each  of  the  early  citizens 
who  dropped  in  through  the  front  way  after  they  had 
received  certain  information  from  Files,  who  ex 
citedly  had  beckoned  them  to  come  to  him  at  the 
ell  door.  Mr.  Britt  frankly  exposed  his  new  senti 
ments  about  living  and  doing.  When  he  put  on  his 
overcoat  and  went  forth,  Prophet  Elias  popped  out 
of  the  door  of  Usial's  cot  like  the  little  gowned  figure 
of  a  toy  barometer.  Britt  waved  his  hand  in  cheer 
ful  greeting.  "Prophet  Elias,  hand  me  that  text 
about  the  way  of  the  transgressor  being  a  hard  one 
to  travel,  and  I'll  take  it  in  a  meek  and  lowly  spirit 
and  be  much  obliged."  There  was  no  sarcasm  in 
Britt's  tone;  on  the  contrary,  his  manner  agreed 
with  his  profession  regarding  meekness.  The  Prophet 
swapped  stares  with  Files,  who  stood  in  the  tavern 
door;  that  Elias  was  greatly  impressed  was  evident, 
because  he  withheld  speech. 

That  situation  had  enough  drawing  power  to  bring 
the  brother  to  the  cottage  door;  he  appeared,  his 
spider  in  his  hand. 

"Good  morning,  Usial,"  called  Tasper.  "I  own 
up  that  you're  a  convincing  writer.  According  to 
your  request,  you  see  I'm  giving  you  your  right  name. 
The  voters  are  giving  you  honors.  Who  knows  what 
another  issue  of  The  Hornet  may  get  for  you?" 
Britt's  tone  was  one  of  bluff  sincerity. 

Egypt's  Pharaoh  did  not  seem  to  be  a  bit  put  out 
because  no  one  replied  to  him  in  this  astonishing 

117 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

levee.  He  descended  from  the  porch  and  strolled 
off  toward  Britt  Block,  puffing  his  cigar. 

He  found  the  cashier  alone  in  the  bank.  Vaniman 
hastened  to  put  in  the  first  word.  "President  Britt, 
I'm  ready  to  wind  up  affairs,  and  I  hope  you  see  the 
wisdom  in  holding  our  talk  strictly  to  the  business 
in  hand." 

The  president  walked  in  past  the  grille  and  sat 
down  at  the  table;  by  the  mere  look  he  gave  the 
young  man  Britt  succeeded  in  climaxing  the  suc 
cession  of  the  morning's  surprises;  Vaniman  had 
more  reason  than  the  others  to  be  amazed. 

"Frank,  I'm  sorry!"  There  was  wistful  fervor  in 
the  declaration;  for  the  first  time  in  their  association 
the  president  had  called  the  cashier  by  his  Christian 
name. 

Vaniman  had  risen  from  his  stool;  he  sat  down 
again  and  goggled  at  Britt. 

"If  the  two  of  us  begin  to  apologize,  we'll  get  all 
snarled  up,"  went  on  the  president.  "Real  men  can 
get  down  to  cases  in  a  better  way.  I  did  a  lot  of 
thinking  last  night;  probably  you  did,  too.  The 
hell  fire  I  went  through  yesterday  would  upset  any 
man.  To-day  I'm  scorched  and  sensible.  I  went 
after  something  I  couldn't  get.  Just  now  I  don't 
ask  you  to  stay  here  permanently.  You  can  stay 
right  along  if  you  want  to,  I'll  say  that  here  and  now! 
But  if  you're  bound  to  go — later — go  when  you  can 
leave  on  the  square,  after  you  have  broken  another 

118 


The  Man  Who  Was  Sorry 

man  into  the  job,  if  you  feel  you  don't  want  it.  I'll 
send  you  away  then  with  my  best  wishes  and  a  clean 
bill!  Please  don't  make  me  crawl  any  more 'n  I'm 
doing!" 

It  was  an  appeal  to  Youth's  hale  generosity — and 
generosity  dominated  all  the  other  qualities  in  Vani- 
man's  nature.  "I'll  stay,  Mr.  Britt,"  he  blurted. 
"After  what  you  have  said  I  can't  help  staying." 

The  banker  rose  and  stretched  out  his  hand. 
"Men  can  put  more  into  a  grip  of  the  fist  than 
women  can  into  an  afternoon  of  gabble,  Frank." 

After  the  vigorous  clasp  of  palm  in  palm,  Britt 
had  something  more  to  say.  "Vona  was  terribly 
stirred  up  last  night,  and  nobody  can  blame  her. 
She  served  notice  on  me  that  she  was  done  in  the 
bank.  But  she  needs  the  money  and  you  and  I  need 
her  help.  Go  up  and  ask  her  to  walk  back  in  here  as 
if  nothing  had  happened.  And  tell  that  what  I  said 
about  the  raise  in  her  pay  holds  good." 

"I  think  you  ought  to  go  and  tell  her,  Mr.  Britt,'* 
Vaniman  demurred.  "And  my  standing  with  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Harnden — " 

"I  guess  your  standing  will  be  better  from  now 
on,"  Britt  broke  in,  twisting  his  face  into  a  wry 
smile.  "I  left  Harnden  with  a  hot  ear  on  him  last 
night!  Furthermore,  you'll  have  to  ask  her.  She 
declared  that  if  her  father  or  mother  or  I  tried  to 
change  her  mind  about  coming  back  here  we'd  be 
wasting  breath.  Go  on!  I'll  tend  bank." 

9  119 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

When  Frank  returned  with  Vona  a  half  hour  later 
the  president  beamed  on  them  through  the  wicket. 
He  immediately  left  the  bank  office,  giving  the  book 
keeper  a  paternal  pat  on  the  shoulder  as  he  passed 
her,  calling  her  a  good  girl.  And  then  the  business 
of  the  Egypt  Trust  Company  settled  back  into  its 
usual  routine. 

During  the  day  customers  came  to  the  wicket  with 
notes  sanctioned  by  the  president's  O.  K.  and  his 
sprawling  initials;  Mr.  Britt  did  not  trouble  himself 
by  consulting  the  directors  in  regard  to  ordinary 
loans.  He  was  well  settled  in  his  autocracy  by  virtue 
of  the  voting  proxies  which  he  handled  for  stock 
holders,  although  he  had  only  a  modest  amount  of 
his  own  money  invested  in  the  stock  of  the  bank. 
Mr.  Britt  could  use  his  own  money  to  better  advan 
tage.  He  was  permitted  to  make  a  one-man  bank  of 
the  Trust  Company  because  nobody  in  Egypt  ven 
tured  to  dispute  his  sapience  as  a  financier. 

The  customers  who  came  that  day  were  plainly 
having  a  hard  time  of  it  in  controlling  their  desire  to 
share  some  of  their  emotions  with  the  cashier.  But 
Vaniman's  stolid  countenance  did  not  encourage  any 
confidences. 

Some  of  the  repression  he  exercised  in  the  case  of 
customers  extended  to  his  communion  with  Vona 
during  the  slack  times  of  the  business  day.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  tacit  agreement  between  them  to 
keep  off  the  topic  of  what  had  happened  the  night 

120 


The  Man  Who  Was  Sorry 

before.  Words  could  not  have  added  to  their  under 
standing  of  their  mutual  feelings.  That  understand 
ing  had  established  for  them  the  policy  of  waiting. 
Though  Frank  said  but  little  to  the  girl  about  his 
talk  with  the  president,  he  imagined  he  could  feel  the 
tingle  of  Britt's  handclasp  as  he  remembered  the  look 
on  Britt's  face,  and  he  pitied  the  old  man.  To  go  on, 
seizing  every  opportunity  to  make  love,  would  seem 
like  "rubbing  it  in,"  Frank  told  himself.  He  also 
said  something  of  the  sort  to  Vona,  and  she  agreed 
with  an  amiable  smile. 

And  the  two  of  them  agreed  on  one  thing,  more 
especially:  Tasper  Britt  must  have  had  a  strange 
housecleaning  of  the  heart  during  that  vigil  in  his 
home  on  the  hill. 

Among  other  convincing  evidences  of  Britt's 
transformation  was  his  treatment  of  Prophet  Elias 
at  the  end  of  that  day. 

The  Prophet  did  not  deliver  his  usual  matutinal 
taunts  in  front  of  Britt  Block.  But  when  he  came 
back  from  the  field  in  the  afternoon,  he  returned  from 
conferences  with  Egyptian  skeptics  who  had  not  seen 
Tasper  Britt  in  his  new  form,  and  therefore,  perhaps, 
their  assertions  had  caused  Elias  to  doubt  the  evi 
dences  of  his  own  senses.  At  any  rate,  the  Prophet 
resolved  to  put  the  reform  of  Pharaoh  to  the  test  of 
texts,  and  he  raised  his  voice  and  declaimed. 

Britt  came  to  the  front  door  and  mildly  entreated 
the  Prophet  to  walk  in.  "I'll  be  glad  to  listen  to  you. 

121 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

Isn't  it  a  good  idea  to  tell  me,  man  to  man,  in  my 
office  what's  wrong  with  me,  instead  of  standing  out 
there  in  the  snow,  telling  the  neighborhood?" 

The  Prophet  went  in,  having  first  slapped  his  hand 
on  his  breast,  urging  action,  "'Go  in,  speak  unto 
Pharoah,  king  of  Egypt,  that  he  let  the  children  of 
Israel  go  out  of  his  hand.": 

He  trudged  forth,  after  a  time,  and  walked  along 
slowly  toward  Usial's  house,  clawing  his  hand  above 
his  ear  with  the  air  of  a  man  trying  to  solve  a  per 
plexing  puzzle. 


CHAPTER  XI 

SACKS   AND   MOUTHS — ALL   SEALED 

CVERY  now  and  then  the  fad  of  a  new  trick 
F-^  puzzle — a  few  bits  of  twisted  wire,  or  a  stick  and 
a  string — will  as  effectually  occupy  the  time  of  an 
entire  community  as  a  cowbell  will  take  up  the 
undivided  attention  of  a  cur,  if  the  bell  is  hitched  to 
the  cur's  tail. 

The  folks  of  Egypt  had  a  couple  of  brain-twisters 
to  solve. 

What  had  happened  to  Tasper  Britt? 

How  did  it  happen  that  Cashier  Vaniman  was 
holding  on  to  his  job? 

His  townsfolk  knew  Britt's  character  pretty  well, 
and  they  had  much  food  for  speculation  in  his 
case. 

There  were  some  who  ventured  the  suggestion  that 
Hittie's  remonstrating  spirit  had  come  to  him  in  the 
night  watches.  Other  guesses  ran  all  the  way  down 
the  scale  of  probability  to  the  prosaic  belief  that 
Britt  had  decided  that  it  was  not  profitable  to  go  on 
making  a  fool  of  himself.  It  was  agreed  that  Britt 
had  a  good  eye  for  profit  in  every  line  of  action;  and 

123 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

it  was  conceded,  even  by  those  who  did  not  believe 
all  that  was  said  about  spiritist  influences  in  these 
modern  days,  that  if  Hittie  really  had  managed  to 
get  at  him  it  was  likely  that  her  caustic  communica 
tions  would  knock  some  of  the  folly  out  of  him. 

Egypt  did  not  know  Vaniman,  the  outlander,  very 
well.  Gossip  about  his  reasons  for  remaining  were 
mostly  all  guess-so;  the  folks  got  absolutely  nothing 
from  him  on  the  subject.  He  did  not  discuss  the 
matter  even  with  Squire  Hexter  and  Xoa.  Frank 
and  Vona  had  definitely  adopted  the  policy  of 
waiting,  and  he  resolved  to  take  no  chances  on 
having  that  policy  prejudiced  by  anybody  carrying 
random  stories  to  Britt,  reports  that  the  cashier  had 
said  this  or  the  other. 

Vaniman  took  occasion  to  reassure  Mr.  Britt  on 
that  point,  and  the  latter  had  displayed  much  grati 
tude.  "If  you  don't  hurt  me,  Frank,  I  won't  hurt 
you!"  Then  the  usurer's  eyes  hardened.  "Of 
course,  I  can't  expect  you  to  forget  that  I  threatened 
to  blacken  your  name  in  banking  circles.  But  in  our 
new  understanding  I  guess  we  can  afford  to  call  it  a 
stand-off." 

"If  I  were  staying  here  simply  to  wheedle  you 
into  passing  me  on  with  a  high  testimonial,  I'd  be 
playing  a  selfish  game,  and  that  isn't  my  attitude, 
sir.  I  was  anxious  to  get  this  job.  I  felt  that  I  had 
a  right  to  stand  for  myself,  on  my  own  honesty. 
But  I  shall  tell  the  whole  story  the  next  time  I  apply 

124 


Sacks  and  Mouths — All  Sealed 

for  a  position.  I'm  getting  to  understand  big  finan 
ciers  better,"  he  added,  with  bitterness. 

"Yes,  finance  is  very  touchy  on  certain  points," 
admitted  the  president.  "But  I'm  glad  you're  not 
going  to  do  any  more  talking  here  in  town.  You're 
somewhat  of  a  new  man  here,  and  you  don't  know 
the  folks  as  I  do.  I  suppose  some  talk  will  have  to 
be  made  as  to  why  you  and  I  are  sticking  along 
together,  after  you  slapped  my  face  in  public.  You'd 
better  let  me  manage  the  story." 

"You  may  say  what  you  think  is  best,  Mr.  Britt." 

"They're  a  suspicious  lot,  the  men  in  this  town." 
The  banker  surveyed  Vaniman,  making  slits  of  his 
eyes.  "However,  I've  grown  used  to  all  this  recent 
talk  about  me  being  a  fool.  If  it's  also  said  that  I'm 
a  fool  for  keeping  you  here,  I  won't  mind  it.  And 
you  mustn't  mind  if  it's  hinted  around  that  you're 
hanging  on  in  the  bank  because  you've  got  private 
reasons  that  you're  not  talking  about." 

The  cashier  greeted  that  sentiment  with  an  in 
quiring  frown. 

"Oh,  don't  be  nervous,  Frank!"  Mr.  Britt  flapped 
his  hand,  making  light  of  the  matter.  He  grinned. 
"I  won't  set  you  out  as  being  the  leader  of  a  robber 
gang.  I'm  not  like  the  peaked-billed  old  buzzards 
of  this  place — bound  to  say  the  worst  of  every 
stranger.  You'd  better  turn  to  and  hate  the  critters 
here,  just  as  I  do." 

Britt's  tones  rasped  when  he  said  that;  his  feelings 
125 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

were  getting  away  from  him.  The  young  man's 
expression  hinted  that  he  was  trying  to  reconcile 
this  rancorous  mood  with  Britt's  recent  declarations 
of  a  new  view  of  life. 

"What  I  really  meant  to  say,  Frank,  was  that  such 
has  been  my  feeling  in  the  past.  I'm  trying  to  change 
my  nature.  If  I  forget  and  slip  once  in  a  while,  don't 
lay  it  up  against  me." 

After  that  the  president  and  the  cashier  in  their 
daily  conferences  confined  their  discourse  to  the 
business  of  the  bank.  Britt  got  into  the  way  of 
asking  Vaniman's  advice  and  of  deferring  to  it  when 
it  had  been  given.  "You're  running  the  bank. 
You  know  the  trick  better  than  I  do." 

Therefore,  it  was  perfectly  natural  for  the  presi 
dent  to  bring  up  a  topic  of  the  past,  a  matter  where 
Frank  had  given  advice  that  had  been  scornfully 
rejected.  "I've  been  thinking  over  what  you  said 
about  that  stock  of  hard  money  in  the  vault  needing 
a  guard.  That  fool  of  a  Stickney  has  started  a  lot  of 
gossip,  in  spite  of  my  warning  to  him.  There's  no 
telling  how  far  the  gossip  has  spread." 

"That  kind  of  news  travels  fast,  sir." 

Britt  showed  worry.  "Perhaps  I  undertook  too 
much  of  a  chore  for  a  little  bank  like  ours.  But 
because  we  are  little  and  because  this  town  isn't 
able  to  support  the  bank  the  way  I  had  hoped,  I 
thought  I'd  turn  a  trick  that  would  net  us  more  of  a 
handy  surplus  in  a  modest  sort  of  a  way." 

126 


Sacks  and  Mouths — All  Sealed 

Britt  did  not  trouble  himself  to  explain  to  the 
cashier  that,  by  a  private  arrangement  with  the  city 
broker,  the  deal  would  also  turn  a  neat  sum  into  the 
pocket  of  the  president  of  the  Egypt  Trust  Com 
pany,  hidden  in  the  charge  of  "commission  and  ex 
penses,"  split  with  due  regard  to  the  feelings  of 
broker  and  president. 

"The  big  fellows  are  grabbing  off  twenty-five  or 
thirty  per  cent  in  their  foreign  money  deals,"  went 
on  the  banker.  "Tightening  home  credits  so  as  to 
do  it!  What's  fair  for  big  is  fair  for  little!" 

"The  profit  is  attractive,  surely,"  the  cashier 
stated. 

"Our  stockholders  have  honored  me  right  along, 
and  I'd  like  to  show  'em  that  I  deserve  my  reputation 
as  a  financier.  I'm  just  finicky  enough  to  want  to 
clean  up  the  last  cent  there  is  in  it — and  that's  why 
I'm  waiting  for  the  right  market.  We've  got  to  hold 
on  for  a  few  days,  at  any  rate.  But  I  reckon  you  feel 
as  I  do,  that  we're  taking  chances,  now  that  gossip 
is  flying  high!" 

"I  think  the  vault  should  be  guarded,  Mr.  Britt." 

"Any  suggestions  as  to  a  man?" 

"I  don't  know  the  men  here  well  enough  to 
choose." 

"And  I  know  'em  so  blasted  well  that  I'm  in  the 
same  box  as  you  are.  They're  numbheads." 

The  two  men  sat  and  looked  at  each  other  in 
silence;  the  matter  seemed  to  be  hung  up  right 

127 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

there,  like  a  log  stranded  on  a  bank — "jillpoked,"  as 
rivermen  say. 

"There's  one  way  out  of  it,  Frank,"  blurted  the 
president.  "Nobody  cares  when  I  come  or  go, 
nights.  I  may  as  well  sleep  here  as  in  my  house,  all 
alone.  I'll  have  a  cot  put  in  the  back  room."  He 
pointed  to  a  door  in  the  rear  of  the  bank  office. 

Vaniman  came  forward  with  instant  and  eager 
proffer.  "That's  a  job  for  me,  Mr.  Britt." 

In  spite  of  an  effort  to  seem  casual,  Britt  could 
not  keep  significance  out  of  his  tone.  "It's  too  bad 
to  pen  a  young  man  up  of  an  evening,  when  he  can 
be  enjoying  himself  somewhere." 

"It's  because  I'm  young  that  I'm  insisting,  sir." 

"And  I  suppose  I'm  so  old  that  no  husky  robber 
would  be  afraid  of  me,"  returned  Britt,  dryly.  "So 
you  insist,  do  you?" 

"I  do." 

"I  must  ask  you  to  remember  that  you're  doing 
it  only  because  you  have  volunteered." 

"I'll  be  glad  to  have  you  tell  the  directors  that  I 
volunteered  and  insisted." 

"Very  well!  We'll  have  the  thing  understood, 
Frank.  I  wouldn't  want  to  have  'em  think  I  was 
obliging  you  to  do  more  than  your  work  as  cashier." 

Therefore,  Vaniman  had  a  cot  brought  down  from 
Squire  Hexter's  house,  and  borrowed  a  double-bar 
reled  shotgun  from  the  same  source.  He  did  not  con 
sider  that  his  new  duty  entailed  any  hardship.  He 

128 


Sacks  and  Mouths — All  Sealed 

had  his  evenings  for  the  pachisi  games.  Xoa  in 
sisted  on  making  a  visit  to  the  bank  and  putting  the 
back  room  in  shape  for  the  lodger.  But  she  vowed 
that  she  was  more  than  ever  convinced  that  money 
was  the  root  of  all  evil. 

Frank's  slumbers  were  undisturbed;  he  found  the 
temporary  arrangement  rather  convenient  than 
otherwise.  He  kindled  his  furnace  fire  before  going 
to  the  Squire's  for  breakfast  and  Britt  Block  was 
thoroughly  warm  when  he  returned. 

There  was  only  one  break  in  this  routine,  one  oc 
casion  for  alarm,  and  the  alarm  was  but  temporary. 
Frank  heard  footsteps  in  the  corridor  one  evening 
after  he  had  come  back  to  the  bank  from  the  Squire's 
house.  Almost  immediately  Mr.  Britt  used  his  key 
and  appeared  to  the  young  man.  "I  waited  till  I 
was  sure  you  were  here,"  the  president  explained. 
"What  Hexter  doesn't  know  won't  hurt  him — and  I 
thought  I'd  better  not  come  to  the  house  for  you. 
I'm  sorry  it's  so  late."  Britt  was  anxiously  apologetic. 

"It  isn't  very  late,  sir." 

"But  it's  late,  considering  what's  on  my  mind, 
Frank.  And  now  that  I'm  here  I  hate  to  tell  you 
what  my  errand  is."  He  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and 
brought  out  a  letter,  tapped  it  with  his  forefinger, 
and  replaced  it.  "I  got  it  in  the  mail  after  you  had 
gone  to  supper." 

"If  it's  any  matter  where  I  can  be  of  help,  sir,  you 
needn't  be  a  bit  afraid  to  speak  out." 

129 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"You  can  help,  but — "  After  his  hesitation  Britt 
plunged  on.  "I  wrote  to  that  broker  that  I  was 
feeling  a  little  under  the  weather  and  was  post 
poning  my  trip  to  the  city,  and  now  that  fool  of  a 
Barnes  writes  back  that  he's  starting  right  behind 
his  letter  to  come  up  here  to  arrange  about  taking 
over  the  specie  and  closing  the  deal,  because  the 
market  is  just  right  to  act.  And  the  through  train, 
the  one  he'll  be  sure  to  take,  hits  Levant  about  two 
o'clock  to-morrow  morning.  He  asks  me  to  send 
somebody  down  to  meet  him.  That's  all  one  of 
those  taxicab  patronizers  knows  about  traveling 
conditions  in  the  country.  Frank,  unless  you'll 
volunteer  to  go  I'll  have  to  go  myself.  I  don't  want 
that  man  talking  all  the  way  up  here  with  old  Files's 
gabby  hostler,  or  with  anybody  else  I  send  from  the 
village." 

Vaniman,  even  though  he  tried  to  make  Britt's 
reasons  for  the  request  seem  convincing,  could  not 
help  feeling  that  the  financier's  natural  secretiveness 
in  matters  of  personal  business  was  stretched  some 
what  in  this  instance.  But  he  gulped  back  any  hesi 
tation  and  offered  to  go  on  the  errand. 

"Frank,  when  I  was  having  my  run  of  foolishness 
I  was  sorry  that  you  are  young.  Now  I'm  mighty 
glad  of  it,"  declared  Britt.  "I  can  take  your  place 
in  yonder  on  the  cot  for  the  night — and  I'm  going  to 
do  it.  But  I'll  be  frank  enough  to  say  that  I'd  rather 
you'd  ride  to  Levant  and  back  in  a  sleigh  to-night 

130 


Sacks  and  Mouths — All  Sealed 

than  do  it  myself.  Go  rout  up  Files's  hostler,  borrow 
his  fur  coat,  and  bundle  up  warm.  It's  good  slipping 
along  the  road,  and  the  trip  may  have  a  little  pep 
for  you,  after  all." 

And,  putting  away  his  momentary  doubts,  Frank 
reflected  on  the  matter  and  was  honestly  glad  to  vary 
the  monotony  of  his  close  confinement  to  the  bank. 

So  he  went  and  roused  Files's  hostler,  bundled 
himself  in  the  coat  and  the  sleigh  robes,  and  made  a 
really  joyous  experience  out  of  the  trip  to  Levant, 
under  the  stars  and  over  the  snow  that  was  crisped 
by  the  night's  chill. 

He  waited  beside  the  station  platform,  standing 
up  in  the  sleigh  and  peering  eagerly  after  the  train 
stopped.  He  called  the  name,  "Mr.  Barnes,"  until 
the  few  sleepy,  slouching,  countrified  passengers  who 
alighted  had  passed  on  their  way. 

It  was  perfectly  apparent  that  Broker  Barnes  was 
not  present  to  answer  roll  call. 

And  after  waiting,  in  whimsical  delay,  to  make 
sure  that  Mr.  Barnes  had  not  come  footing  it  behind 
the  train,  Frank  whipped  up  and  drove  back  to 
Egypt.  He  felt  no  pique;  he  had  enjoyed  the  outing 
in  the  sparkling  night. 

In  the  gray  dawn  he  again  routed  out  Files's 
yawning  hostler  and  turned  the  equipage  over  to 
him. 

"Hope  you  found  it  a  starry  night  for  a  ramble," 
suggested  the  hostler,  willing  to  be  informed  as  to 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

why  a  bank  cashier  had  been  gallivanting  around 
over  the  country  between  days,  turning  in  a  sweating 
horse  at  break  of  dawn. 

Vaniman  allowed  that  it  was  a  starry  night,  all 
right,  and  left  the  topic  there,  with  a  period  set  to 
it  by  the  snap  of  his  tone. 

He  went  directly  to  the  bank  and  admitted  himself 
with  his  keys. 

President  Britt  came  from  the  back  room,  with 
yawns  that  matched  those  of  the  hostler. 

"What  time  did  Barnes  say  he'd  be  down  here 
from  the  tavern  in  the  morning?" 

"Mr.  Barnes  did  not  come  on  that  train,  sir." 

"Well,  I'll  be — "  rapped  Britt,  snapping  shut  his 
jaws. 

"But  I  haven't  minded  the  trip — I  really  enjoyed 
the  ride,"  insisted  the  messenger. 

"Don't  tell  that  to  Barnes  when  he  shows  up  to 
night  on  Ike  Jones's  stage,"  commanded  Britt.  "I 
propose  to  have  a  few  words  to  say  about  what  it 
means  in  the  country  when  a  city  fathead  changes 
his  mind  about  the  train  he'll  take."  He  was  looking 
past  the  cashier  while  he  talked.  He  turned  away 
and  picked  up  his  hat  and  coat  from  a  chair.  "I'll 
be  going  along  to  my  house,  I  reckon.  You'd  better 
catch  a  cat-nap  on  the  cot.  I  found  it  comfortable. 
I've  slept  every  minute  since  you've  been  gone." 

Then  Britt  hurried  out,  locking  the  door  behind 
him. 


CHAPTER  XII 

SOMETHING   TO    BE    EXPLAINED 

D  Y  noon  that  day,  in  the  lulls  between  customers 
*"'  at  the  wicket,  Vaniman  had  had  a  succession  of 
run-ins  with  the  demon  of  drowsiness — a  particularly 
mischievous  elf,  sometimes,  in  business  hours. 
Whenever  he  caught  himself  snapping  back  into 
wakefulness  he  found  Vona's  twinkle  of  amusement 
waiting  for  him. 

Once  she  pointed  to  the  big  figures  on  the  day-by- 
day  calendar  on  the  wall.  The  date  was  February 
2ist.  "Console  yourself,  Frank,  dear,"  she  advised, 
teasing  him.  "The  bank  will  be  closed  to-morrow 
and  you  can  make  Washington's  Birthday  your 
sleep  day!  But  I  do  hope  you  can  stay  awake  at  our 
play  this  evening." 

"The  man  who  invented  sleep  as  a  blessing  didn't 
take  into  account  city  brokers  who  change  their 
minds  about  trains,"  he  returned.  "I  hope  old  Ike 
Jones  will  sing  that  'Ring,  ting!  Foo  loo  larry,  lo 
day'  song  of  his  all  the  way  coming  up  from  Levant. 
It  '11  be  about  the  sort  of  punishment  that  Behind- 
time  Barnes  deserves." 

133 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

A  few  minutes  later  the  cashier  was  jumped  out 
of  another  incipient  nap  by  the  clamor  of  bells.  The 
two  horses  that  whisked  past,  pulling  a  double-seated 
sleigh,  were  belted  with  bells.  A  big  man  with  a 
lambrequin  mustache  was  filling  the  rear  seat  meas 
urably  well.  Folks  recognized  the  team  as  a  "let- 
hitch"  from  Levant. 

"Mr.  Barnes  comes  late,  but  he  comes  in  style  and 
with  all  his  bells,"  Vona  suggested. 

The  equipage  swung  up  beside  the  tavern  porch 
and  the  big  man  threw  off  the  robes  and  stamped  in, 
leaving  the  driver  to  take  the  horses  to  the  stable. 

Landlord  Files  had  furnished  an  accompaniment 
for  the  clangor  of  the  bells;  he  was  pounding  his 
dinner  gong. 

The  new  arrival  had  a  foghorn  voice  and  used  it  in 
hearty  volume  in  telling  Mr.  Files  that  his  music 
was  all  right  and  mighty  timely!  "And  that  alligator 
seems  to  be  calling  for  his  grub,  too,"  he  remarked, 
on  his  way  to  hang  up  his  coat.  "But  he  doesn't 
look  any  hungrier  than  I  feel." 

"Room?"  inquired  the  landlord,  hopefully,  swing 
ing  the  register  book  and  pulling  a  pen  out  of  a 
withered  potato. 

"No  room!  Just  dinner.  I  expect  to  be  out  of 
here  by  night." 

Mr.  Files  stabbed  the  potato  with  a  vicious  pen 
thrust.  He  knew  food  capacity  when  he  viewed  it; 
there  would  be  some  profit  from  a  lodging,  but  none 

134 


Something  to  Be  Explained 

from  a  two-shilling  meal  served  to  a  man  who  had 
compared  himself  with  that  open-mouthed  saurian. 

But  the  guest  grabbed  the  penstock  while  it  was 
still  vibrating.  He  wrote  across  the  book,  with  great 
flourishes:  "Fremont  Starr.  State  Bank  Examiner. 
February  2ist." 

"A  matter  of  record,  landlord!  Shows  I'm  here. 
Tells  the  world  I  was  here  on  date  noted.  Never  can 
tell  when  the  law  will  call  for  records.  Hotel  registers 
are  fine  evidence.  Always  keep  your  registers." 

"I've  had  that  one  eleven  years,  and  it  'ain't 
been  filled  up  yet,"  averred  Mr.  Files,  inspecting  the 
potentate's  signature  as  sourly  as  if  he  were  estimat 
ing  by  how  much  that  lavish  use  of  ink  had  reduced 
the  possible  dinner  profit.  "You're  the  new  appoint 
ment,  hey?  I  heard  you  speak,  one  time,  over  at  the 
political  rally  in  the  shire  town." 

"Both  my  enemies  and  my  friends  would  have  ad 
vised  you  to  stay  right  here  on  your  porch — saying 
that  you  could  hear  me  just  as  well,  if  you  didn't  care 
to  make  the  trip  to  the  shire,"  said  Mr.  Starr,  lifting 
the  mat  of  his  mustache  in  a  wide  smile.  "  But  when 
they  call  me  *  Foghorn  Fremont'  I'm  never  one  mite 
offended.  'Let  your  light  shine  and  your  voice  be 
heard,'  is  my  motto  in  politics." 

"Shouldn't  wonder  if  it's  a  good  one,  when  they 
get  to  passing  around  the  offices,"  admitted  Files. 
He  started  on  his  way  to  the  kitchen. 

At  that  moment  President  Britt  entered,  having 
10  *35 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

answered  the  gong  with  the  promptitude  of  a  fireman 
chasing  a  box  alarm. 

"What  have  you  on  the  fire,  landlord?"  called  Mr. 
Starr,  absorbed  in  the  dinner  topic. 

"Boiled  dinner!" 

Britt  did  not  show  the  enthusiasm  that  was  ex 
hibited  by  the  other  guest. 

"Nothing  like  a  boiled  dinner  after  a  long  ride," 
Mr.  Starr  affirmed.  "Plenty  of  cabbage  with  mine, 
if  you'll  be  so  kind!" 

Files  gave  Mr.  Britt  some  information  that  he 
thought  might  be  of  interest.  "Here's  the  new  bank 
examiner.  Seeing  that  you  probably  have  business 
together,  I'll  set  both  of  you  at  the  same  table." 
He  retired. 

After  the  commonplaces  of  getting  acquainted,  the 
two  tackled  the  boiled  dinner. 

"Let's  see — who's  your  cashier?"  inquired  Starr, 
chewing  vigorously  behind  the  mask  of  his  mustache. 

"Young  fellow  named  Vaniman.  I  have  let  him 
take  full  charge  of  the  bank  business.  He  seems  to 
know  all  the  ropes." 

"Poor  policy,  Britt!  Poor  policy!"  stated  the 
examiner,  vehemently.  "Not  a  word  to  say  against 
Vaniman — "  He  halted  on  the  word  and  opened 
his  eyes  on  Britt.  "Vaniman!  A  name  that  sticks. 
There  was  Vaniman  of  Verona.  Easy  to  remember! 
There  was  some  sort  of  a  money  snarl,  as  I  recollect." 

"It  was  the  young  chap's  father." 
136 


Something  to  Be  Explained 

"And  you're  letting  the  son  run  your  bank,  eh?" 

"I'm  not  a  kind  that  visits  the  sins  of  the  fathers 
on  the  children,"  loftily  stated  the  president.  "Fur 
thermore,  a  burnt  child  dreads  the  fire.  I  heard  a 
railroad  manager  say  that  a  trainman  who  had  let 
an  accident  happen  by  his  negligence  was  worth 
twice  as  much  to  the  road  as  he  was  before.  You 
don't  say  that  I  made  a  bad  pick,  do  you?" 

"Not  a  word  to  say  against  Vaniman!"  repeated 
Starr,  slashing  his  cabbage.  "I  never  guess  about 
any  proposition — I  go  at  it!  But  what  I'm  saying 
to  you,  Britt,  is  what  I'm  saying  to  all  the  easy-going 
country-town  bankers.  'You  may  have  second  edi 
tions  of  the  Apostle  Paul  for  your  cashiers,'  I  say, 
'but  every  time  you  sign  a  statement  of  condition 
without  close  and  careful  audit  you're  bearing  false 
witness.'  And  being  a  new  broom  that  proposes  to 
sweep  clean,  I'm  tempted  to  poke  it  just  as  hard  to 
slack  presidents  and  directors  as  I  am  to  an  embez 
zling  cashier  who  has  been  given  plenty  of  rope  to 
run  as  he  wants!  I'm  on  the  job  examining  banks!" 
He  was  a  vigorous  man,  Examiner  Starr!  He  showed 
it  by  the  way  he  went  at  his  corned  beef. 

President  Britt  was  perturbed;  his  eyes  shifted; 
he  was  even  pale.  "If  that's  the  way  you  feel  about 
it,  I  hope  you'll  give  our  little  bank  a  good  going- 
over.  I  was  glad  to  read  of  your  appointment,  Mr. 
Starr!" 

"Uncle  Whittum  isn't  on  this  job  any  longer," 
137 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

stated  the  examiner,  not  needing,  in  Britt's  case,  as 
a  banker,  to  dwell  upon  the  lax  methods  of  the  easy 
going  predecessor. 

A  half  hour  later,  Starr,  with  his  unbuttoned  fur- 
lined  overcoat  outspread  as  he  strode,  giving  him  the 
aspect  of  a  scaling  aeroplane,  marched  from  the 
tavern  to  the  bank  with  Britt. 

Vaniman  had  his  mouth  opened  to  welcome  a  man 
named  Barnes,  but  he  was  presented  to  Bank-Ex 
aminer  Starr  and  surprise  placed  him  at  a  disad 
vantage  in  the  meeting.  The  torpor  of  drowsiness 
made  him  appear  stupid  and  ill  at  ease  in  the  pres 
ence  of  this  forceful  man  who  stamped  in  and  pro 
ceeded  to  exploit  and  enjoy  his  newly  acquired 
authority.  Mr.  Starr  hung  up  his  coat  and  hat  and 
swooped  like  a  hawk  on  the  daybook,  at  the  same 
time  calling  for  the  book  of  "petty  cash." 

"First  of  all,  the  ringer  on  the  pulse  of  the  patient, 
Cashier,"  he  declared,  grimly  jovial.  "Then  we'll 
have  a  look  at  the  tongue,  and  study  the  other 
symptoms." 

President  Britt  went  away  to  his  own  office. 

Examiner  Starr,  confining  himself  to  his  announced 
policy  of  grabbing  in  on  the  running  operations  of 
the  bank  at  the  moment  of  his  entry,  studied  the 
petty-cash  accounts  and  checked  up  the  daybook 
with  thoroughness.  He  found  everything  all  right 
and  grunted  his  acknowledgment  of  that  discovery. 

Then  he  began  on  the  ledgers,  assuring  Vona  with 

138 


Something  to  Be  Explained 

ponderous  gallantry  that  he  wouldn't  get  in  her  way; 
he  averred  that  he  had  a  comparison  system  of  his 
own,  and  showed  the  pride  of  "the  new  broom." 

After  a  time  it  was  apparent  that  Mr.  Starr  was 
having  trouble.  He  added  columns  of  figures  over 
again  and  scowled;  his  system  was  plainly  trigged. 

"Young  lady,  where's  your  comptometer?"  he  de 
manded,  after  he  had  made  a  quick  survey  of  the 
office. 

"We  have  never  used  one,  sir." 

"One  is  indispensable  these  days  in  a  bank — 
especially  when  a  bookkeeper  can't  add  a  column  of 
figures  correctly  by  the  old  method." 

She  flushed  and  her  lips  quivered.  "I'm  sure  I  do 
add  correctly,  sir.  My  books  always  balance." 

"Add  that  column,  young  lady!"  He  indicated 
the  column  with  the  plunging  pressure  of  a  stubby 
digit,  and  stood  so  close  to  her,  while  she  toiled  up 
the  line  of  figures,  that  his  breath  fanned  her  hair. 

Vaniman  looked  on,  sympathizing,  feeling  sure  that 
the  bluff  inquisitor  had  made  a  mistake  of  his  own. 

Her  confusion  under  Starr's  baleful  espionage  sent 
her  wits  scattering.  She  jotted  down  the  total,  as  she 
made  it. 

"Wrong!"  announced  the  examiner.  "And  your 
figures  are  different,  even,  from  the  wrong  total  you 
have  on  the  books.  Try  again." 

She  set  her  lips  and  controlled  her  emotions  and 
went  over  the  work  once  more. 

139 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

Starr  exhibited  figures  which  he  had  jotted  on  a 
bit  of  paper  that  he  had  palmed.  "You're  right,  as 
the  figures  stand!  But  your  book  total  doesn't  agree 
with  those  figures.  Now  what  say?" 

Vona  was  distinctly  in  no  condition  to  say  any 
thing  sensible;  she  stared  from  the  figures  to  Starr, 
showing  utter  amazement,  and  then  she  mutely 
appealed  to  the  cashier. 

"I'm  sure  that  Miss  Harnden  is  remarkably  ac 
curate  in  her  work,  Mr.  Starr,"  asserted  the  young 
man.  "I  have  been  in  the  habit  of  going  over  it, 
myself,  and  I  have  found  no  errors." 

"Oh,  you  go  over  it,  do  you?  That's  good!"  But 
Starr's  tone  was  not  one  of  satisfied  indorsement. 
He  picked  up  the  big  book  and  carried  it  to  the  center 
table.  He  fished  from  his  waistcoat  pocket  a  small 
reading  glass,  unfolded  the  lenses,  and  studied  the 
page.  He  turned  other  pages  and  performed  the 
same  minute  inspection.  Then  he  took  the  ledger 
to  the  window  and  held  page  after  page  against  the 
glass,  propping  the  book  in  his  big  hands. 

When  he  turned,  Vona  was  sitting  in  a  chair, 
trembling,  tears  in  her  eyes,  apprehension  ridging  her 
face. 

"Cashier  Vaniman,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  this 
young  lady's  feelings  any  more  than  I  have.  There's 
no  sense  in  blaming  her  until  I  understand  the  which 
and  the  why  of  this  thing.  I  have  found  column 
after  column  added  wrongly.  Perhaps  she  has  done 

140 


Something  to  Be  Ex-plained 

her  work,  originally,  all  right.  But  the  pages  of  this 
ledger  are  pretty  well  speckled  with  erasures.  The 
two  of  you  will  have  to  thresh  it  out  between  your 
selves.  I'm  looking  to  you  as  the  responsible  party 
in  this  bank,  Vaniman.  I'll  do  the  rest  of  my  talking 
to  you.  After  you  have  found  out  what  the  trouble 
is  you  must  explain  to  me." 

"There  can  be  no  trouble  with  our  books!"  But 
the  cashier  stammered;  his  incredulity  would  not 
permit  him  to  discuss  the  matter  then  or  to  offer  any 
sort  of  explanation;  in  his  amazement  he  could  not 
think  of  any  possible  explanation.  He  could  not 
convince  himself  that  Vona  needed  other  protection 
than  her  own  thoroughness  and  rectitude  gave  her; 
however,  he  wanted  to  extend  his  protection. 

"If  anything  is  wrong  with  the  accounts,  you  may 
most  certainly  look  to  me,  Mr.  Starr.  I  assume  full 
responsibility.  I  have  found  Miss  Harnden  to  be 
most  accurate." 

"I  ought  to  have  been  through  with  this  small 
bank  and  away  by  night,"  grumbled  the  examiner. 
"But  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  fair  show,  Vaniman, 
by  waiting  over.  You've  got  this  evening — and  to 
morrow  is  a  holiday,  and  you  can  take  that  day,  if 
you  need  it,  to  get  this  tangle  straightened  out. 
I'm  stopping  my  work  right  here."  He  slammed 
the  ledger  shut  and  tossed  it  on  the  girl's  desk. 
"There's  no  sense  in  going  through  your  cash  in  the 
vault  till  I  can  check  by  the  book  accounts.  But, 

141 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

bless  my  soul!  I  can't  understand  by  what  rhyme 
or  reason  those  figures  have  been  put  into  the  muddle 
they're  in.  It's  coarse  work.  I'll  be  frank  and  say 
that  it  doesn't  look  like  a  sane  man's  attempt  to  put 
something  over.  That's  why  I'm  lenient  with  you 
and  am  not  sticking  one  of  my  closure  notices  on  to 
your  front  door.  Now  get  busy,  so  that  you  can  be 
sure  it  won't  go  up  on  the  door  day  after  to-morrow." 

He  took  down  his  coat  and  hat  and  when  he  left 
the  room  they  heard  him  go  into  Tasper  Britt's 
office  across  the  corridor. 

The  stricken  lovers  faced  each  other,  appalled, 
mystified,  questioning  with  tbe  looks  they  exchanged. 

"Frank,"  the  girl  wailed,  "you  know  I  haven't — " 

"I  know  you  have  been  faithful  and  careful,  in 
every  stroke  of  your  pen,  dear.  Whatever  it  is,  it's 
not  your  fault." 

"But  what  has  happened  to  the  books?"  she 
queried,  winking  back  her  tears,  trying  hard  to 
meet  him  on  the  plane  of  his  calmness;  he  was 
getting  his  feelings  in  hand. 

"I  propose  to  find  out  before  I  close  my  eyes  this 
night,"  he  told  her,  gravely. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MISFORTUNE   MEDDLES 

OHORTLY  before  the  supper  hour,  Britt  and  Starr 
^  came  into  the  bank;  they  wore  their  overcoats 
and  hats,  and  were  on  their  way  to  the  tavern, 
evidently. 

"How  are  you  making  it,  Frank?"  the  president 
inquired,  with  solicitude. 

A  sympathetic  observer  would  have  found  a  sug 
gestion  of  captives,  caged  and  hopeless,  in  the  de 
meanor  of  the  cashier  and  the  bookkeeper  behind  the 
grille. 

Vaniman  peered  through  the  lattice  into  the  gloom 
where  the  callers  stood  and  shook  his  head.  "I'm 
not  making  it  well  at  all,  sir." 

"But  you  must  have  some  idea  of  what  the  trouble 
is." 

"There's  trouble,  all  right,  Mr.  Britt — plenty  of  it. 
There's  no  use  in  my  denying  that.  But  I'm  not  far 
enough  along  to  give  any  sensible  explanation." 

The  president  showed  real  anxiety.  "What  do 
you  say  for  a  guess?" 

"If  you  are  asking  me  only  for  a  guess,  I  should 
H3 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

say  that  the  ghost  of  Jim  the  Penman  has  been 
amusing  himself  with  these  books,"  replied  the 
cashier;  he  was  bitter;  he  was  showing  the  effects 
of  worry  that  was  aggravated  by  lack  of  sleep. 

"Aha!  Plainly  not  far  enough  along  for  a  sensible 
explanation,"  rumbled  Examiner  Starr. 

"A  knave  is  usually  ready  with  a  good  story  when 
he  has  been  taken  by  surprise.  Honesty  isn't  as 
handy  with  the  tongue.  I  can  only  say  that  some 
thing — I  don't  say  somebody — has  put  these  books 
into  a  devil  of  a  mess,  and  I'm  doing  my  best  to 
straighten  them." 

"I  wish  you  luck,"  affirmed  Starr.  "I've  been 
talking  with  your  president  and  he  says  everything 
good  about  your  faithfulness,  and  about  how  you 
have  been  doing  guard  duty  in  the  bank  of  late. 
Perhaps  you're  a  sleepwalker,  Vaniman,"  he  added, 
with  heavy  humor. 

"I  feel  like  one  now,"  retorted  the  cashier.  "I 
was  awake  all  last  night." 

"Ah!  Doing  what?"  asked  the  examiner,  politely, 
but  with  interest. 

The  question  hinted  that  in  the  talk  in  Britt's 
office  the  president  had  refrained  from  mention  of 
Barnes,  the  broker.  Vaniman  decided  instantly  to 
respect  Britt's  reticence;  the  president  had  shown 
much  caution  the  night  before,  even  in  regard  to 
Squire  Hexter.  "Oh,  merely  running  around  on  a 

little  business  of  my  own,  Mr.  Starr." 

144 


Misfortune  Meddles 

Britt  did  not  assist  by  any  reference  to  his  own 
share  in  the  business.  "We  may  as  well  start  along 
toward  the  tavern,  Starr."  The  president  took  two 
steps  toward  the  grille  and  addressed  Vona.  "I'm 
going  to  take  Mr.  Starr  to  the  show  this  evening. 
I  want  him  to  see  what  smart  girls  we  have  in  Egypt." 

Vona  did  not  reply.  She  turned  to  Vaniman  with 
the  air  of  one  who  had  suddenly  been  reminded  of 
something  forgotten  in  the  stress  of  affairs.  But 
before  she  had  an  opportunity  to  speak  there  was  a 
tramping  of  hasty  feet  in  the  corridor  and  her 
father  came  in  through  the  door  that  had  been  left 
ajar  by  Britt.  "Good  evening,  all!"  hailed  Mr. 
Harnden,  cheerily.  "But,  see  here,  Vona,  my  dear 
girl,  we  have  been  waiting  supper  a  wThole  half  hour. 
You've  got  scant  time  to  eat  and  get  on  your  stage 
togs." 

"This  has  been  a  pretty  busy  day  in  the  bank, 
Harnden,"  explained  Britt.  "Meet  Mr.  Starr,  the 
bank  examiner!" 

"Oh,  hullo,  Starr!"  cried  Mr.  Harnden,  shoving 
out  a  friendly  hand.  "Heard  you  were  in  town.  I 
know  Starr,"  he  told  Britt.  "I  know  everybody  in 
the  state  worth  knowing.  I  told  you  so." 

Mr.  Starr  was  not  effusive;  there  was  a  hint  of 
sarcasm  in  his  inquiry  as  to  how  the  invention 
business  was  coming  along. 

"Fine  and  flourishing!"  announced  Harnden, 
radiantly.  Then  he  blurted  some  news  which  seemed 

US 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

to  embarrass  Britt  very  much;  the  news  also  pro 
voked  intense  interest  in  Vaniman  and  the  daughter. 
"All  I've  ever  needed  is  backing,  Starr.  Now  I've 
got  it!"  He  clapped  his  hand  on  the  banker's 
shoulder.  "Here's  my  backer — good  as  a  certified 
check.  Hey,  Tasper?" 

"I'm — I'm  always  ready  to  help  develop  local 
talent,"  Britt  admitted,  stammering,  turning  his 
back  on  the  faces  at  the  grille.  "Starr,  we'd  better 
get  along  toward  the  tavern.  I've  had  some  poor 
luck  with  Files  when  he's  off  his  schedule  time!" 

"The  new  combination  of  Harnden  and  Britt  will 
make  'em  sit  up  and  take  notice,"  persisted  the  in 
ventor.  Forgetting  Vona,  desiring  to  impress  a 
skeptic  from  the  outside  world,  he  followed  Starr  and 
the  banker. 

Vaniman  and  the  girl  listened  to  the  optimist's 
fervid  declarations  till  the  slam  of  the  outside  door 
shut  them  off. 

"That  sounds  like  an  interesting  investment, 
Vona,"  was  the  cashier's  dry  comment.  "Mr.  Britt 
seems  to  be  swinging  that  watering  pot  of  his  new 
generosity  around  in  pretty  reckless  fashion.  I 
wonder  what  he'll  do  next!" 

"Frank,  I'm  afraid!"  She  spoke  in  a  whisper, 
staring  hard  at  him.  "No,  no!  Not  what  you  think! 
I  am  not  afraid  because  he  is  buying  my  father.  If 
Mr.  Britt  thinks  I  can  be  included  in  that  bargain 
he  is  wiser  in  making  his  money  than  he  is  in  spending 

146 


Misfortune  M 'eddies 

it.  But  there's  something  dreadful  at  work  against 
us!"  She  laid  her  hand  on  the  page  of  an  open 
ledger. 

"The  books  can  be  straightened,"  he  insisted.  "I 
can  do  it.  I'll  do  it,  if  I  have  to  call  in  every  de 
positor's  pass  book."  He  pointed  to  the  vault.  He 
was  keeping  the  doors  open  till  his  work  was  done. 
"As  long  as  the  money  is  there,  every  cent  of  it,  the 
final  checking  will  show  for  itself.  And  the  money 
will  be  there!  I'm  answering  for  that  much!  I 
propose  to  stay  with  it  till  that  Barnes  shows  up." 

"I  remember  now  that  you  told  me  he  would 
come  by  the  stage  to-day." 

"So  Britt  gave  me  to  understand,  when  I  reported 
that  he  didn't  come  on  the  night  train." 

"But  I  looked  out  of  the  window  a  little  while 
ago — there  was  no  passenger  with  Jones." 

"Has  the  stage  come?"  He  glanced  at  the  clock 
and  blinked  at  the  girl.  "Well,  I  guess  those  books 
had  me  hypnotized!" 

"Small  wonder,"  she  said,  bitterly.  "I  tell  you 
I'm  afraid,  Frank!  There's  something  we  don't  see 
through!" 

"I  don't  dare  to  waste  any  more  time  wondering 
what  the  trouble  is,  Vona.  I  must  get  on  to  the 
job." 

"Both  of  us  must." 

"It's  time  for  you  to  be  going  home." 

"I'm  going  to  stay  here." 

H7 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"But,  dear  girl,  there's  the  play!  You  have  the 
leading  part!" 

"The  words  will  stick  in  my  throat  and  tears  will 
blind  me  when  I  think  of  you  working  here  alone. 
Frank,  I  insist!  I  will  not  leave  you.  They  must 
postpone  the  play." 

He  went  to  her  and  laid  her  hands,  one  upon  the 
other,  between  his  caressing  palms.  "The  folks  will 
be  there — they  are  expecting  the  play — you  must 
not  disappoint  them.  It's  as  much  your  duty  to  go 
to  the  hall  as  it  is  mine  to  stay  here  with  the  books. 
And  another  thing!  Think  of  the  stories  that  will 
be  set  going,  with  the  bank  examiner  here,  if  it's 
given  out  that  the  play  had  to  be  postponed  because 
you  couldn't  leave  the  books.  Such  a  report  might 
start  a  run  on  the  bank.  Folks  would  be  sure  to 
think  there's  trouble  here.  You  must  go,  Vona. 
It's  for  the  sake  of  both  of  us." 

He  went  and  brought  her  coat  and  hat. 

"I  can't  go  through  with  the  play,"  she  wailed. 

"We've  got  to  use  all  the  grit  that's  in  us — what 
ever  it  is  we're  up  against.  Come!  Hold  out  your 
arms!"  He  assisted  her  with  the  coat. 

He  drew  her  toward  the  door  with  his  arm  about 
her.  "We'll  make  a  good  long  day  of  it  to-morrow 
— a  holiday.  George  Washington  never  told  a  lie. 
Perhaps  those  books  will  come  to  themselves  in  the 
morning  and  realize  what  day  it  is  and  will  stop 
lying!  Now  be  brave!" 

148 


Misfortune  Meddles 

The  kiss  he  gave  her  was  long  and  tender;  she 
clung  to  him.  He  released  her,  but  she  turned  in  the 
corridor  and  hurried  back  to  him.  "I  shouldn't  feel 
as  I  do — worried  sick  about  you,  Frank!  The  books 
must  come  out  right,  because  both  of  us  have  been 
careful  and  honest." 

"Exactly!  The  thing  will  prove  itself  in  the  end. 
The  money  in  that  vault  will  talk  for  us!  I'll  do  a 
little  talking,  myself,  when —  But  no  matter 
now!" 

"You  have  suspicions!     I  know  you  have!" 

"Naturally,  not  believing  as  much  in  ghosts  or 
demons  as  I  may  have  intimated  to  Starr." 

She  looked  apprehensively  over  her  shoulder  into 
the  dark  corners  of  the  corridor.  Then  she  drew  his 
face  down  close  to  hers.  "And  it's  hard  to  believe 
in  the  reformation  of  demons,"  she  whispered. 

"I'm  doing  a  whole  lot  of  thinking,  little  girl. 
But  I  don't  want  to  talk  now.  Do  your  best  at  the 
play.  Hide  your  troubles  behind  smiles — that's 
real  fighting!  And  we'll  see  what  to-morrow  will  do 
for  us." 

"Yes,  to-morrow!"  She  ran  away,  but  again  she 
returned.  "And  nothing  can  happen  to  you  here,  in 
a  quiet  town  like  this,  can  it,  Frank?"  she  asked. 

"Nothing  but  what  can  be  taken  care  of  with  that 
shotgun  in  the  back  room!  But  don't  look  fright 
ened,  precious  girl!  There's  nothing — " 

But  even  Vaniman  was  startled,  the  next  moment. 
149 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

The  girl  leaped  into  his  embrace  and  cowered. 
Something  was  clattering  against  a  window  of  the 
bank.  But  only  the  mild  face  of  Squire  Hexter  was 
framed  in  the  lamplight  cast  on  the  window.  He 
called,  when  he  got  a  peep  at  the  cashier,  who  came 
hastening  back  inside  the  grille:  "Supper,  boy! 
Supper!  Come  along!" 

Frank  threw  up  the  window.  "I'll  make  what's 
left  over  from  my  lunch  do  me,  Squire.  I'm  tied  up 
here  with  my  work." 

"I'll  allow  the  new  Starr  in  our  local  sky  to  keep 
you  away  from  euchre,"  the  Squire  grumbled,  "but 
I  swanny  if  I'll  let  your  interest  in  astronomy,  all  of 
a  sudden,  keep  you  away  from  the  hot  vittles  you 
need.  You  come  along  with  me  to  the  house." 

"Squire,  I  can't  lock  the  vault  yet  awhile.  I 
don't  want  to  leave  things  as  they  are.  I  must  not." 

Vona  had  come  to  his  side;  she  understood  the 
nature  of  his  anxiety.  "I  am  just  starting  for  my 
house,  Squire  Hexter.  I'm  going  to  hurry  back  with 
Frank's  supper,  so  that  he  won't  be  bothered." 

"Bless  your  soul,  sis,  even  Xoa  will  be  perfectly 
satisfied  with  that  arrangement  when  I  explain," 
said  the  Squire,  gallantly.  "I'm  tempted  to  stay, 
myself,  if  Hebe  is  going  to  serve."  He  backed  away 
and  did  a  grand  salaam,  flourishing  the  cane  whose 
taps  on  the  window  had  startled  the  lovers. 

"You  must  not  take  the  time,  Vona,"  protested 
the  young  man. 

150 


Misfortune  Meddles 

"I'll  bring  the  supper  when  I'm  on  my  way  to  the 
hall.  Not  another  word!  If  I'm  to  lose  the  best 
part  of  my  audience  from  the  hall  to-night,  I  can,  at 
least,  have  that  best  part  give  me  a  compliment  on 
my  new  gown — and  give  me,"  she  went  on,  reassuring 
him  by  a  brave  little  smile,  "a  whole  lot  of  courage 
by  a  dear  kiss." 

She  hurried  away. 

He  was  hard  at  work  when  she  returned,  carrying 
a  wicker  basket. 

Again  he  protested  because  she  was  taking  so 
much  trouble,  but  she  laid  aside  her  coat  and  insisted 
on  arranging  the  food  on  a  corner  of  the  table,  a 
happy  flush  on  her  cheeks,  giving  him  thanks  with 
her  eyes  when  he  praised  her  gown. 

"I'm  going  to  look  in  on  you  after  the  show,"  she 
declared.  "Father  will  come  with  me." 

Vona  remained  with  him  until  the  wall  clock 
warned  her. 

She  asked  him  to  wait  a  moment  when  he  brought 
her  wraps.  She  stood  before  him  in  her  gay  garb, 
wistfully  appealing.  "Frank,  I  was  intending  to 
have  a  little  play  of  my  own  with  you  at  the  hall 
to-night.  I  was  going  to  look  right  past  that  Durgin 
boy,  straight  down  into  your  eyes,  when  I  came  to 
a  certain  place  in  the  play.  I  was  intending  to  let 
the  folks  of  Egypt  know  something,  providing  they 
all  don't  know  it  by  now.  This  is  what  I  have  to  say, 
and  now  I'm  saying  it  to  the  only  audience  I  care  for: 
11  151 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"'Twere  vain  to  tell  thee  all  I  feel, 
Or  say  for  thee  I'd  die. 
Ah,  well-a-day,  the  sweetest  melody 
Could  never,  never  say  one  half  my  love  for  thee." 

Then,  after  a  moment,  she  escaped  from  his 
ardent  embrace. 

"Remember  that,  dearest,"  she  called  from  the 
doorway. 

"I'll  remember  it  every  time  I  start  with  a  line  of 
figures,  you  blessed  girl.  And  then  how  my  pencil 
will  go  dancing  up  the  column!" 

After  she  had  gone  he  pulled  the  curtain  cords, 
raising  the  curtains  so  that  they  covered  the  lower 
sashes;  he  did  not  care  to  be  seen  at  his  work  by  the 
folks  who  were  on  their  way  to  the  hall. 

Squire  Hexter,  escorting  Xoa,  took  the  trouble  to 
step  to  the  window  and  tap  lightly  with  his  cane. 
He  was  hoping  that  the  cashier  would  change  his 
mind  and  go  to  the  hall.  He  waited  after  tapping, 
but  Vaniman  did  not  appear  at  the  window.  The 
Squire  did  not  venture  to  tap  again.  "He  must  be 
pretty  well  taken  up  with  his  work,"  he  suggested 
to  Xoa  when  they  were  on  their  way.  "That's 
where  we  get  the  saying,  'Deaf  as  an  adder."' 

Oblivious  to  all  sounds,  bent  over  his  task,  Vani 
man  gave  to  the  exasperating  puzzle  all  the  concen 
tration  he  could  muster. 

The  play  that  evening  at  Town  Hall  dragged  after 
the  fashion  of  amateur  shows.  The  management  of 

152 


Misfortune  Meddles 

the  sets  and  the  properties  consumed  much  time. 
There  were  mishaps.  One  of  these  accidents  had  to 
do  with  the  most  ambitious  scene  of  the  piece,  a 
real  brook — the  main  feature  of  the  final,  grand 
tableau  when  folks  were  trying  to  keep  awake  at 
eleven  o'clock.  The  brook  came  babbling  down  over 
rocks  and  was  conveyed  off-stage  by  means  of  a  V- 
shaped  spout.  There  was  much  merriment  when  the 
audience  discovered  that  the  brook  could  be  heard 
running  uphill  behind  the  scenes;  two  hobble-de-hoy 
boys  were  dipping  the  water  with  pails  from  the 
washboiler  at  the  end  of  the  sluice  and  lugging  it 
upstairs,  where  they  dumped  it  into  the  brook's 
fount.  The  brook's  peripatetic  qualities  were  empha 
sized  when  both  boys  fell  off  the  top  of  the  make 
shift  stairs  and  came  down  over  the  rocks,  pails  and 
all.  Then  there  was  hilarity  which  fairly  rocked  the 
hall. 

For  some  moments  another  sound — a  sound  which 
did  not  harmonize  with  the  laughter — was  disre 
garded  by  the  audience. 

All  at  once  the  folks  realized  that  a  man  was 
squalling  discordantly — his  shrieks  almost  as  shrill 
as  a  frightened  porker's  squeals.  Heads  were 
snapped  around.  Eyes  saw  Dorsey,  the  municipal 
watchman,  almost  the  only  man  of  the  village  of 
Egypt  who  was  not  of  the  evening's  audience  in 
Town  Hall.  He  was  standing  on  a  settee  at  the  ex 
treme  rear  of  the  auditorium.  He  was  swinging  his 

153 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

arms  wildly;   as  wildly  was  he  shouting.    He  noted 
that  he  had  secured  their  attention. 

"How  in  damnation  can  you  laugh?"  he  screamed. 
"The  bank  has  been  robbed  and  the  cashier  mur 
dered!" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A    BANK   TURNED   INSIDE    OUT 

A  X  7 HEN  the  skeow-wowed  "brook"  twisted  the 
*  *  drama  into  an  anticlimax  of  comicality,  the 
players  who  were  on  the  stage  escaped  the  deluge 
by  fleeing  into  the  wings. 

Vona  had  been  waiting  for  her  cue  to  join  the  hero 
and  pledge  their  vows  beside  the  babbling  stream. 
After  one  horrified  gasp  of  amazement,  she  led  off 
the  hilarity  back-stage.  Frank  was  in  her  mind  at 
that  moment,  as  he  had  been  all  the  evening;  her 
zestful  enjoyment  of  the  affair  was  heightened  by 
the  thought  that  she  could  help  him  forget  his 
troubles  for  a  little  while  by  the  story  she  would 
carry  to  him.  Then  she  and  the  others  in  the  group 
heard  the  piercing  squeals  of  a  man's  voice. 

"Somebody  has  got  hystierucks  out  of  it,  and  I 
don't  blame  him,"  stated  the  manager  of  the  show. 
He  grabbed  the  handle  of  the  winch  and  began  to 
let  down  the  curtain.  "I  reckon  the  only  sensible 
thing  to  do  is  to  let  Brook  Number  One  and  Brook 
Number  Two  take  the  curtain  call." 

Then  Dorsey's  shrill  insistence  prevailed  over  the 

155 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

roars  of  laughter  in  front;  the  young  folks  on  the 
stage  heard  his  bloodcurdling  bulletin. 

The  manager  let  slip  the  whirling  handle  and  the 
pole  of  the  hurrying  curtain  thumped  the  platform. 
Vona  had  leaped,  risking  her  life,  and  was  able  to 
dodge  under  the  descending  pole.  For  a  moment, 
sick  with  horror  and  unutterable  woe,  she  stood 
there  alone  against  the  tawdry  curtain,  as  wide- 
eyed  and  white-faced  as  Tragedy's  muse. 

Men,  women,  and  children,  all  the  folks  of  Egypt, 
were  struggling  to  their  feet;  the  sliding  settees 
squawked  and  clattered. 

She  saw  Tasper  Britt,  fighting  a  path  for  himself, 
Starr  following.  Britt's  face,  above  his  blackened 
beard,  was  yellow-pale. 

Panic  was  piling  the  people  at  the  narrow  rear 
doors;  the  weight  of  those  who  were  rushing  forward 
wedged  all  the  mass  at  the  exits. 

"Vona!"  called  the  manager,  pulling  in  the  edge 
of  the  curtain  to  give  her  passage.  "This  way!  The 
side  door." 

The  summons  helped  to  put  away  her  faintness; 
her  strength  came  back  to  her.  Her  goal  was  the 
bank!  In  the  frenzy  of  her  solicitude  for  her  lover 
she  took  no  thought  of  herself. 

The  others  stopped  to  find  their  wraps.  Vona  ran 
down  the  street  as  she  was,  bareheaded,  the  ribbons 
of  her  stage  finery  fluttering.  She  was  close  behind 
the  first  arrivals  at  the  open  door  of  Britt  Block. 

156 


A  Bank  Turned  Inside  Out 

All  the  other  portals  were  wide  open,  bank  door  and 
grille  door.  But  the  door  of  the  vault  was  closed. 

She  thrust  herself  resolutely  through  the  group  of 
men  and  made  a  frenzied  survey  of  the  bank's  inte 
rior.  Her  single  quest  was  for  Vaniman;  he  was  no 
where  in  sight.  The  books  of  account  were  open  on 
the  desk,  mute  evidence  for  her  that  he  had  been 
interrupted  suddenly. 

She  voiced  demands  in  shrill  tones,  but  the  men 
had  no  information  for  her.  She  called  his  name 
wildly  and  there  was  no  reply. 

"I  found  the  outside  door  open,"  said  Dorsey, 
raucously  hoarse.  "I  came  in,  and  all  was  just  as 
you  see  it." 

"But  you  said  that  he — that  Frank—  Vona 
pressed  her  hands  against  her  throat;  she  could  not 
voice  the  terrible  announcement  that  Dorsey  had 
made. 

"Well,  if  it  ain't  that,  what  else  is  it?"  insisted  the 
watchman. 

Then  Tasper  Britt  arrived  in  the  room,  followed 
by  the  bank  examiner;  they  entered,  breathing 
heavily  and  running  with  the  tread  of  Percherons. 

"If  it  ain't  murder  and  robbery,  what  is  it,  Mr. 
Britt?"  Dorsey  bawled,  evidently  feeling  the  au 
thority  was  then  on  the  scene  and  was  demanding 
report  and  action. 

"I  don't  know — I  don't  know!"  the  president 
quavered,  staggering  to  the  grille  and  clutching  the 

157 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

wires  with  both  hands  in  order  to  steady  himself. 
He  was  palpably,  unmistakably  stricken  with  a 
fear  that  was  overpowering  him. 

The  outer  office  was  filling;  the  corridor  was  being 
packed  by  the  arriving  throngs. 

Examiner  Starr  took  command  of  the  situation. 
He  noted  the  nickel  badge  on  Dorsey's  breast. 
"Officer,  put  every  person  except  Mr.  Britt  out  of 
this  building!" 

But  Watchman  Dorsey,  though  he  commanded  and 
pushed,  was  not  able  to  make  any  impression. 

"By  my  authority  as  state  bank  examiner,  I  order 
this  place  cleared!"  bellowed  Mr.  Starr.  The  folks 
of  Egypt  showed  that  they  were  greatly  interested 
in  the  volume  of  voice  possessed  by  "Foghorn  Fre 
mont,"  but  they  did  not  retreat.  For  that  matter, 
the  crowd  in  the  room  was  thoroughly  blocked  at 
the  door  by  the  press  in  the  corridor. 

Starr's  attention  was  wholly  taken  up  by  one  in 
dividual  for  the  next  few  minutes.  Prophet  Elias 
boldly  advanced,  after  worming  his  way  out  of  the 
throng;  he  pushed  the  examiner  aside  from  the  door 
of  the  grille  and  went  into  the  inner  inclosure.  An 
intruder  who  was  prosaically  garbed  would  not  have 
prevailed  as  easily  as  this  bizarre  individual  with  the 
deep-set  eyes,  assertive  mien,  and  wearing  a  robe 
that  put  him  out  of  the  ordinary  run  of  humanity. 
But  Mr.  Starr  got  back  his  voice  and  ordered  the 
Prophet  to  walk  out. 

158 


A  Bank  Turned  Inside  Out 

Elias  turned  slowly  and  faced  Starr.  The  Proph 
et's  feet  were  hidden  by  the  robe  and  he  came  around 
with  the  effect  of  a  window  dummy  revolving  on  a 
support.  Starr  bawled  more  furious  demands. 

But  the  Prophet  did  not  lower  his  crest.  "Many 
bulls  have  compassed  me:  strong  bulls  of  Bashan 
have  beset  me  round.  They  gaped  upon  me  with 
their  mouths,  as  a  ravening  and  a  roaring  lion.'" 

Then  the  Prophet  spatted  his  palm  upon  the  legend 
on  his  breast  and  clacked  a  disdainful  digit  off  the 
pivot  of  his  thumb.  Tasper  Britt,  even  in  his  hottest 
ire,  had  been  restrained  in  the  past  by  some  influence 
from  laying  violent  hands  on  this  peculiar  personage. 
It  was  evident  that  Starr  was  controlled  by  a  similar 
reluctance  and  that  his  forbearance  was  puzzling 
him.  When  the  Prophet  got  down  on  his  knees, 
Starr  was  silent;  it  looked  as  if  this  zealot  intended 
to  offer  prayer — and  the  bank  examiner  did  not  care 
to  earn  the  reputation  of  being  a  disturber  of  a 
religious  gathering.  But  Elias  doubled  over  and 
began  to  crawl  around  the  room  on  his  hands  and 
knees,  peering  intently  and  cocking  his  ear  and  seem 
ing  to  take  much  interest  in  his  undertaking. 

Until  then,  in  the  rush  of  events,  in  the  haste  of 
gathering  at  the  scene  of  the  tragedy,  in  the  wild 
uncertainty  as  to  what  had  happened,  nobody  had 
taken  the  time  to  study  the  details  of  the  conditions 
in  the  bank  inclosure. 

Starr  ordered  Dorsey  to  stand  in  front  of  the  grille 
159 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

door  and  to  keep  out  all  persons.  The  examiner  was 
obliged  to  urge  Britt  to  unclasp  his  hands  and  follow 
him  before  the  door  was  closed  and  locked  against 
the  crowd. 

Vona  had  stumbled  to  a  chair;  she  was  staring 
about  her,  trying  to  control  her  horror  and  steady  her 
mind  so  that  she  might  comprehend  what  had  hap 
pened.  Under  a  stool  she  saw  a  crumpled  coat;  she 
leaped  from  her  chair,  secured  it,  and  sat  down  again. 
It  was  Frank's  office  coat;  both  sleeves  were  ripped 
and  the  back  breadths  were  torn.  She  held  it  for 
ward  in  her  shaking  hands  for  the  inspection  of  the 
bank  examiner.  But  Mr.  Starr  was  too  intent  on 
other  matters  to  take  heed  of  the  pathetic  proof  of 
violence.  He  was  particularly  concerned  with  what 
he  had  found  in  one  corner. 

Literally,  thousands  of  small  metal  disks  were 
heaped  and  scattered  there.  Some  of  the  disks  had 
rolled  to  all  parts  of  the  room.  The  Prophet  had  been 
scraping  up  handfuls  of  them,  inspecting  them,  and 
throwing  them  toward  the  corner  where  the  main 
mass  lay. 

Starr  picked  up  some  of  them.  They  were  iron; 
each  disk  was  perforated. 

There  were  many  canvas  sacks  near  the  heap  of 
disks;  the  sacks  were  ripped  and  empty.  Mr.  Starr 
secured  one  of  them.  Its  mouth  was  closed  with  the 
seal  with  which  specie  sacks  are  usually  secured. 

But  Mr.  Starr  saw  something  else  in  the  corner, 
1 60 


A  Bank  Turned  Inside  Out 

an  object  at  which  he  peered;  the  gloom  made  the 
results  of  his  scrutiny  uncertain.  He  stooped  and 
picked  up  that  object,  making  it  the  third  of  the 
trinity  of  exhibits.  It  was  a  large  square  of  paste 
board,  the  backing  of  an  advertising  calendar. 
Starr  carried  it  to  the  lamp  on  the  table.  There  was 
writing  on  the  placard.  The  characters  were  large 
and  sprawling.  The  bank  examiner  tapped  his 
ringer  on  the  writing,  calling  for  the  attention  of  the 
anguished  president.  The  legend  read: 

This  is  a  hell  of  a  bank! 

"Britt,  if  this  is  a  sample  of  your  whole  stock  of 
specie,"  Starr  rumbled,  holding  a  disk  between 
thumb  and  forefinger,  "the  profanity  is  sort  of  ex 
cused  by  the  emphasis  needed.  I  really  think  I 
would  have  been  obliged  to  say  the  same,  after 
counting  up." 

"I  can't  understand  it,"  the  president  muttered. 

"  Did  you  suppose  you  carried  actual  coin  in  those 
bags?"  " 

"Yes — gold  and  some  silver." 

"Had  you  counted  it?" 

"I  left  the  checking  up  to  the  cashier." 

"Where  do  you  think  your  cashier  is,  right  now?" 

Britt  flapped  his  hands,  helplessly  confessing  that 
he  did  not  know. 

In  all  the  room  there  was  a  profound  hush.    The 
161 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

crowd  had  been  straining  aural  nerves,  trying  to 
hear  what  was  being  said  by  the  men  in  authority. 

Nobody  had  been  paying  any  attention  to  Prophet 
Elias,  who  had  been  crawling  like  a  torpid  caterpillar. 
For  some  moments  he  had  been  rigidly  motionless  in 
one  spot.  He  was  leaning  against  the  front  of  the 
vault,  his  ear  closely  pressed  to  the  crevice  at  the 
base  of  the  door. 

He  straightened  up  on  his  knees  and  shouted  in 
such  stentorian  tones  that  all  in  the  room  jerked 
their  muscles  in  sudden  fright.  "Swine!  Fools!" 

They  gaped  at  him. 

"Whilst  you're  shouting  amongst  your  trash  a 
man  is  dying  on  the  other  side  of  this  door!" 

Vona  leaped  from  her  chair.  She  shrieked.  She 
ran  to  the  door  and  beat  her  fists  against  the  steel, 
futilely  and  furiously. 

"In  there  lies  your  money-changer,  I  tell  you, 
Pharaoh,  lord  of  Egypt,"  the  Prophet  shouted.  "I 
hear  his  groans!" 

Britt  and  Starr  rushed  to  the  vault  and  both  of 
them  strove  clumsily  and  ineffectually  with  the  me 
chanism,  giving  up  their  attempts  after  a  few 
moments. 

"It's  no  use!"  Britt  gulped.  "The  time  lock  must 
be  on." 

"Oh,  for  the  rod  of  Moses  and  the  ancient  faith 
that  smote  the  rock  in  twain!"  pleaded  the  Prophet. 

"We'd  better  use  rendrock,  seeing  that  we  can't 

162 


A  Bank  Turned  Inside  Out 

depend  on  a  miracle,"  called  a  practical  citizen  from 
behind  the  grille. 

"Get  sledge  hammers  and  chisels,"  shouted  some 
body  else,  and  there  followed  a  surging  of  the  throng, 
indicating  that  concerted  action  was  following  the 
suggestion. 

The  face  of  the  president  was  twisted  by  grimaces 
which  resembled  spasms.  "Wait!  Wait  a  moment! 
There  may  be  a  way!"  he  called,  chokingly.  "Let 
me  out  through  there!" 

Then  Vona  gave  over  her  insane  efforts  to  pry- 
open  the  vault  door  with  her  finger  nails.  She  ran 
out  past  Starr,  who  stopped  to  lock  the  grille  door. 
The  examiner  was  too  much  taken  up  by  other 
matters  to  bother  with  the  Prophet,  who  held  to  his 
place  at  the  vault  door  and  was  intently  scrutinizing 
something  which  he  found  of  interest. 

Vona  forced  herself  through  the  press,  in  company 
with  Starr,  and  was  at  Britt's  elbow  when  he  un 
locked  his  office  door.  He  tried  to  keep  her  out  and 
called  to  Dorsey.  But  she  slipped  past  while  the  door 
was  open  to  admit  Starr's  bulky  form.  Inside,  she 
turned  on  Britt,  who  was  in  the  doorway. 

"You  don't  dare  to  keep  me  out,  Mr.  Britt!"  She 
stamped  her  foot.  Her  eyes  blazed.  "You  don't 
dare!" 

He  blinked  and  entered  and  locked  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XV 

VIA  THE  PRESIDENT'S  PRIVATE  WAY 

'""THERE  was  a  hanging  lamp  in  Britt's  office,  and 
•*  the  president  hastened  to  light  it. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  there's  another  way  of 
entering  that  bank  vault?"  Starr  demanded  when 
Britt  began  to  twirl  the  knob  of  a  steel  door  that 
guarded  his  private  vault.  "I'm  beginning  to  think 
that  the  fellow  who  wrote  on  that  placard  had  this 
joint  sized  up  mighty  well." 

Britt  went  on  with  the  working  of  the  combination. 
He  was  deeply  stirred;  his  excitement  had  made  his 
temper  touchy.  "I  know  of  no  reason  why  the  presi 
dent  of  a  bank  isn't  allowed  access  to  the  vault." 

"  Perhaps  not,  under  proper  conditions,  but  we'll 
discuss  that  matter  later,  Britt.  Right  now  I'm  all- 
fired  glad  you  can  get  in."  He  sneered  when  he 
added,  "Perhaps  a  regular,  time-locked  vault  does 
need  a  safety  outlet.  I  may  recommend  it  for  all 
state  banks." 

Vona  took  her  stand  close  to  the  door,  trembling 
with  passionate  eagerness.  Constantly  she  appealed 
to  Britt  to  hurry.  When  he  finally  swung  open  the 

164 


Via  the  President's  Private  Way 

door  she  leaped  into  the  vault.  He  dragged  her 
back,  handling  her  roughly,  harshly  telling  her  that 
it  was  no  place  for  a  girl. 

"I  don't  think  it  is,  either,"  agreed  Starr.  "We 
seem  to  have  considerable  love  mixed  in  with  this 
situation,  young  woman,  but  this  is  not  the  time  for 
it." 

He  crowded  past  her,  at  the  back  of  Britt. 

The  man  ahead  stopped  and  fumbled  at  what 
seemed  to  be  a  wall  of  concrete;  he  pushed  open  a 
narrow  door  which  fitted  so  closely  that  it  had 
seemed  to  be  a  part  of  the  wall. 

Mr.  Starr  grunted. 

There  was  a  passage  at  the  right  of  the  inner  safe. 
The  light  from  the  lamp  outside  shed  dim  radiance. 
Britt  descended  a  short  flight  of  cement  steps,  and 
Starr,  following,  groping  with  his  feet,  realized  that 
the  way  led  under  the  floor  of  the  corridor.  He  was 
obliged  to  crouch  almost  double  in  order  to  avoid 
the  ceiling. 

There  was  another  flight  of  stairs  leading  up  to 
the  floor  level. 

The  two  men,  mounting  the  stairs,  heard  groans. 

Vona,  undeterred  by  her  treatment,  had  followed 
closely  on  Starr's  heels.  She  urged  them  to  hurry, 
calling  hysterically. 

Again  the  man  ahead  fumbled  at  what  seemed  to 
be  solid  wall.  Again  he  was  able  to  open  a  door  of 
concrete. 

165 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

But  Britt,  when  he  was  through  the  narrow  door 
in  the  lead,  was  blocked  and  stopped.  He  lighted  a 
match.  One  leaf  of  the  double  doors  of  the  inner 
safe  of  the  bank  vault  was  flung  back  across  the 
narrow  passage.  He  dropped  the  stub  of  the  match 
and  pushed.  The  door  moved  only  a  few  inches; 
it  was  opposed  by  something  on  the  other  side.  The 
president  lighted  another  match  and  held  it  while  he 
peered  over  the  door;  there  was  a  space  between 
the  top  of  the  door  and  the  ceiling.  "It's  Vaniman," 
he  reported,  huskily.  "He's  lying  against  this  door. 
I  can't  push  it  any  farther.  He's  wedged  against 
the  front  of  the  vault." 

Then  Starr  lighted  a  match.  He  noted  that  the 
space  above  the  door  was  too  narrow  for  his  bulk  or 
Britt's. 

"Go  tell  the  guard  to  send  in  a  chap  that's  slim 
and  spry,"  the  examiner  commanded  the  girl. 
"We've  got  to  boost  somebody  in  over  that  door." 

"I'll  go.  I  must  go.  I'm  bound  and  determined  to 
go!"  she  insisted,  pulling  at  him,  trying  to  crowd 
past  him. 

But  it  was  necessary  for  Starr  and  Britt  to  follow 
her  to  the  wider  space  below  the  corridor  in  order  to 
allow  her  to  pass  them.  They  demurred,  still,  but 
she  hurried  back  up  the  stairs.  Britt  knelt  and  gave 
her  his  shoulders  to  serve  as  a  mounting  block.  She 
swung  herself  over  the  door,  and  by  the  light 
of  the  match  that  Starr  held  she  was  able  to  avoid 

166 


Via  the  President's  Private  Way 

stepping  on  the  prostrate  figure  when  she  lowered 
herself  to  the  floor. 

The  men  outside  in  the  passage  detected  the  odor 
of  chloroform. 

"I  have  lifted  him,"  the  girl  cried.  "Push  back 
the  door." 

Britt  obeyed.  Then  he  and  Starr  took  the  uncon 
scious  cashier  by  shoulders  and  heels  and  carried  him 
to  the  private  office. 

Britt's  office  conveniences  did  not  include  a  couch; 
the  men  propped  Vaniman  in  the  desk  chair  and 
Vona  crouched  beside  him  and  took  his  head  on  her 
shoulder. 

There  were  no  visible  marks  of  injury.  He  gave 
off  the  scent  of  chloroform.  His  wrists  were  crossed 
in  front  of  him  and  were  secured  with  a  noose  of  tape. 
Starr  picked  up  shears  from  Britt's  desk  and  cut  the 
tape.  "Where's  your  doctor?  Get  him  in  here." 

"He  lives  in  another  part  of  the  town.  I  didn't 
see  him  at  the  hall  to-night,"  said  Britt.  "I'll  send 
for  him." 

But  Vaniman  began  to  show  such  promising  symp 
toms  that  the  president  delayed  the  message. 

There  seemed  to  be  magic  in  the  touch  of  Vona's 
caressing  palm  on  the  stricken  man's  forehead;  the 
words  she  was  murmuring  in  his  ear  were  stirring  his 
faculties.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  stared  at  her  and 
at  the  two  men,  vague  wonderment  in  his  expression. 

"What  is  it — what  has  happened?"  he  muttered. 
12  l67 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"That's  what  we  want  to  know,"  said  Starr. 
"What  did  happen?  Who  got  afoul  of  you?'* 

"I  don't  know.    Who  brought  me  in  here?" 

"We  got  you  out  of  the  bank  vault  and  brought 
you  here  by  the  way  of  Britt's  private  passage." 

Vaniman  seemed  to  find  that  statement  uncon 
vincing. 

"He  didn't  know  about  that  passage,"  stammered 
the  president.  "I — I  never  bothered  to  speak  about 
it.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  told  you,  Frank. 
That  cement  panel  is  a  door — with  the  handle  on 
this  side." 

The  cashier  shook  his  head  slowly,  as  if  giving  up 
the  attempt  to  understand. 

"I  guess  the  panel  fits  so  closely  that  you  never 
noticed  it  was  a  door,"  Britt  went  on,  with  the 
manner  of  one  trying  to  set  himself  right.  "I  meant 
to  tell  you  about  it." 

"But  what  happened?"  the  examiner  insisted. 

"I  don't  know,  sir." 

"Look  here!    You  must  know  something!" 

"Mr.  Starr,  this  is  no  time  to  shout  and  bellow 
at  this  poor  boy  who  has  barely  got  his  senses  back," 
Vona  protested,  indignantly. 

"You  mustn't  blame  Mr.  Starr,  dear,"  said  the 
cashier,  patting  her  hand.  "Of  course,  he  and  Mr. 
Britt  are  much  stirred  up  over  the  thing.  I'm  not 
trying  to  hide  anything,  gentlemen.  You  say  you 
found  me  in  the  vault!  What  is  the  condition  of 

1 68 


Via  the  Presidents  Private  Way 

things  in  the  bank?"  He  struggled  and  sat  up 
straighter  in  the  chair.  He  was  showing  intense 
anxiety  as  his  senses  cleared. 

Examiner  Starr,  though  present  officially,  was  in 
no  mood  to  make  any  report  on  bank  conditions  just 
then.  "Vaniman,  you'd  better  do  your  talking 
first." 

"I'll  tell  all  I  know  about  it.  I  was  working  on 
the  books,  my  attention  very  much  taken  up,  of 
course.  I  felt  a  sudden  shock,  as  I  remember  it. 
Everything  went  black.  As  to  what  has  been  going 
on  from  that  moment,  whenever  it  was,  till  I  woke  up 
here,  I'll  have  to  depend  on  you  for  information." 

"That's  straight,  is  it?"  demanded  the  examiner, 
grimly. 

"On  my  honor,  sir." 

"There's  a  lot  to  be  opened  out  and  what  you 
have  said  doesn't  help." 

"I  wish  I  could  help  more.  I  understand  fully 
what  a  fix  I'm  in  unless  this  whole  muddle  is  cleared 
up,"  confessed  the  cashier,  plaintively.  He  had 
been  putting  his  hand  to  his  head.  "I  think  I  must 
have  been  stunned  by  a  blow." 

Starr,  without  asking  permission,  ran  his  hand 
over  Vaniman's  head.  "No  especially  big  lump 
anywhere!" 

Vaniman  spanned  a  space  on  his  head  between 
thumb  and  forefinger.  "I  feel  a  particular  ache  right 
about  there,  sir." 

169 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"Britt,  get  down  that  lamp!" 

The  president  brought  the  lamp  from  the  hanging 
bracket  and  held  it  close  to  Vaniman's  head  while 
Starr  carefully  parted  the  hair  and  inspected. 
"There's  a  red  strip,  but  it's  not  much  swollen,"  he 
reported.  "Of  course,  we  know  all  about  those 
rubber  wallopers  that —  But  this  is  not  a  time  for 
guesswork.  Now,  Vaniman,  how  about  this  chloro 
form  odor?  Remember  anything  about  an  attempt 
to  snuff  you  that  way?" 

"No,  sir!" 

"Why  don't  you  wait  until  to-morrow  and  let 
Frank's  mind  clear  up?"  Vona  pleaded.  She  had 
been  standing  with  her  arm  about  the  young  man's 
shoulders,  insisting  on  holding  her  position  even  when 
Starr  crowded  close  in  making  his  survey  of  the 
cashier's  cranium. 

"Young  woman,  the  first  statements  in  any  affair 
are  the  best  statements  when  there's  a  general,  all- 
round  desire  to  get  to  bottom  facts,"  said  the 
examiner,  sternly. 

"That's  my  desire,  sir,"  declared  Vaniman, 
earnestly.  "But  I  have  told  you  all  I  know." 

President  Britt  had  replaced  the  lamp  in  the 
bracket.  He  waited  for  a  moment  while  Starr  re 
garded  the  cashier  with  uncompromising  stare,  as  if 
meditating  a  more  determined  onslaught  in  the  way 
of  the  third  degree.  Britt,  restraining  himself  during 
the  interview,  had  managed  to  steady  himself  some- 

170 


Via  the  Presidents  Private  Way 

what,  but  he  was  still  much  perturbed.  He  ventured 
to  put  in  a  word.  "Mr.  Starr,  don't  you  think  that 
Vona's  idea  is  a  good  one — give  Frank  a  good  night's 
rest?  He  may  be  able  to  tell  us  a  whole  lot  more  in 
the  morning." 

Then  the  bank  examiner  delivered  the  crusher  that 
he  had  been  holding  in  reserve.  "Vaniman,  you  may 
be  able  to  tell  me  in  the  morning,  if  not  now,  how  it 
happens  that  all  your  specie  bags  were  filled  with — 
not  with  the  gold  coin  that  ought  to  have  been  there, 
but  with" — Starr  advanced  close  to  the  cashier  and 
shook  a  big  finger — "  mere  metal  disks ! "  He  shouted 
the  last  words. 

Whether  Starr  perceived  any  proof  of  innocence 
in  Vaniman's  expression — mouth  opening,  eyes  wide, 
face  white  with  the  pallor  of  threatened  collapse — 
the  bank  examiner  did  not  reveal  by  any  expression 
of  his  own. 

"This  is  wicked — wicked!"  gasped  Vona. 

"Young  woman,  step  away!"  Starr  yanked  her 
arm  from  Vaniman's  shoulder  and  pushed  her  to  one 
side.  "Did  you  know  that,  Mr.  Cashier — suspect 
that — have  any  least  idea  of  that?" 

"I  did  not  know  it,  sir." 

"Why  didn't  you  know  it?** 

Vaniman  tried  to  say  something  sensible  about 
this  astounding  condition  of  affairs  and  failed  to 
utter  a  word;  he  shook  his  head. 

"How  had  you  verified  the  specie?" 
171 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"By  checking  the  sacks  as  received — by  weighing 
them." 

"  Expect  somebody  else  to  take  'em  in  the  course 
of  business  on  the  same  basis?" 

"I  was  intending — " 

Starr  waited  for  the  explanation  and  then  urged 
the  cashier  out  of  his  silence. 

"I  intended  to  have  President  Britt  and  a  com 
mittee  of  the  directors  count  up  the  coin  with  me, 
sir.  But  it  can't  be  possible — not  with  the  Sub- 
treasury  seal — not  after — " 

"If  you're  able  to  walk,  you'd  better  go  over  into 
the  bank  and  take  a  look  at  what  was  in  those  sacks, 
Mr.  Cashier."  The  examiner  put  a  sardonic  twist 
upon  the  appellation.  "The  sight  may  help  your 
thoughts  while  you  are  running  over  the  matter  in 
your  mind  between  now  and  to-morrow  morning." 

Vaniman  rose  from  the  chair.  He  was  flushed. 
"Mr.  Starr,  I  protest  against  this  attitude  you're 
taking!  From  the  very  start  you  have  acted  as  if  I 
am  a  guilty  man — guilty  of  falsifying  accounts,  and 
now  of  stealing  the  bank's  money." 

There  was  so  much  fire  in  Vaniman's  resentment 
that  Starr  was  taken  down  a  few  pegs.  He  replied 
in  a  milder  tone:  "I  don't  intend  to  put  any  name 
on  to  the  thing  as  it  stands.  But  I'm  here  to  examine 
a  bank,  and  I  find  a  combination  of  crazy  book 
keeping  and  a  junk  shop.  My  feelings  are  to  be 
excused." 

172 


Via  the  President's  Private  Way 

"I'll  admit  that,  sir.  But  you  found  something 
else!  You  found  me  in  the  vault,  you  say.  It  is 
plain  that  I  was  shut  in  that  vault  with  the  time 
lock  on;  otherwise  it  wouldn't  have  been  necessary 
to  lug  me  out  by  that  other  way,  whatever  it  is!" 
He  snapped  accusatory  gesture  at  the  open  door  of 
Britt's  vault  and  flashed  equally  accusatory  gaze  at 
the  president.  "Do  you  think  I  was  trying  to  com 
mit  suicide  by  that  kind  of  lingering  agony?" 

"Seeing  how  you  admit  that  you  excuse  my  feel 
ings,  Vaniman,  I'll  admit,  for  my  part,  that  you've 
certainly  got  me  on  that  point.  It  doesn't  look  like 
a  sensible  plan  of  doing  away  with  yourself,  provided 
there  is  any  sense  in  suicide,  anyway!  You  say  you 
were  not  aware  of  Mr.  Britt's  private  passage?"  he 
quizzed. 

"Most  certainly  I  knew  nothing  about  it." 

"I  suppose,  however,  the  vault  door  is  time-locked. 
To  be  sure,  we  were  pretty  much  excited  when  we 
tried  to  open  it — " 

"Verily,  ye  were!" 

The  voice  was  deep  and  solemn.  The  sound 
jumped  the  four  persons  in  Britt's  office.  Framed  in 
the  door  of  Britt's  vault  was  Prophet  Elias. 

"How  did  you  get  in  here?"  thundered  "Foghorn 
Fremont,"  first  to  get  his  voice. 

"Not  by  smiting  with  the  rod  of  Moses,"  returned 
the  Prophet,  considerable  bite  in  his  tone.  "I  pulled 
open  the  door  of  the  bank  vault  and  walked  in." 

173 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"Britt,  you'd  better  put  up  a  sign  of  'Lunatic 
Avenue*  over  that  passage  and  invite  a  general 
parade  through,"  barked  Starr.  "I've  had  plenty 
of  nightmares  in  my  life,  but  never  anything  to  equal 
this  one,  take  it  by  and  large!" 

It  was  evident  from  President  Britt's  countenance 
that  a  great  many  emotions  were  struggling  in  him; 
but  the  prevailing  expression — the  one  which  seemed 
to  embrace  all  the  modifications  of  his  emotions — • 
indicated  that  he  felt  thoroughly  sick.  He  gazed  at 
the  open  door  of  his  vault  and  looked  as  a  man  might 
appear  after  realizing  that  the  presentation  of  a 
wooden  popgun  had  made  him  turn  over  his  pocket- 
book  to  a  robber.  "Walked  in?  Walked  in?"  he 
reiterated. 

The  stress  of  the  occasion  seemed  to  have  made  the 
Prophet  less  incoherent  than  was  his  .wont;  or  per 
haps  he  found  no  texts  to  fit  this  situation.  "I  did 
not  dive  through  your  solid  steel,  Pharaoh!  I  used 
my  eyes,  after  I  had  used  my  ears.  Here!"  His  fists 
had  been  doubled.  He  unclasped  his  hands  and  held 
them  forward.  In  each  palm  was  one  of  the  metal 
disks.  "Your  bank-vault  door  was  trigged  with 
these — wedged  in  the  crack  of  the  outer  flange.  I 
saw,  I  pulled  hard  on  the  big  handle — and  here  I  am ! " 

"But  the  bolts — "  Starr  stopped,  trying  to  re 
member  about  the  bolts. 

"The  bolts  were  not  shot.  You  were  trying  to 
push  back  what  had  already  been  pushed." 

174 


Via  the  President's  Private  Way 

Starr  began  to  scratch  the  back  of  his  head,  in  the 
process  tipping  his  hat  low  over  his  eyes.  He  turned 
those  eyes  on  Vaniman.  "Speaking  of  pushing — • 
of  being  able  to  push — "  But  the  examiner  did  not 
allow  himself  to  go  any  farther  at  that  time.  "Vani 
man,"  he  blurted,  after  a  few  moments  of  medita 
tion,  "I  want  you  to  volunteer  to  do  something — of 
your  own  free  will,  understand!" 

Vaniman,  pallid  again,  was  fully  aware  of  the  effect 
of  this  new  revelation  on  his  position,  already  more 
than  questionable.  "I'll  follow  any  suggestion,  of 
my  own  free  will,  sir." 

"We'd  better  arrange  to  have  a  private  talk  to 
night  before  we  go  to  sleep,  and  another  talk  when 
we  wake  up.  I  suggest  that  you  come  to  the  tavern 
and  lodge  with  me." 

"It's  a  good  plan,  Mr.  Starr,"  the  cashier  returned, 
bravely. 

But  in  the  distressed  glance  which  Frank  and  Vona 
exchanged  they  both  confessed  that  they  knew  he 
was  politely  and  unofficially  under  arrest. 

"I'll  keep  Dorsey  on  the  premises  and  will  stay 
here,  myself,"  proffered  the  president.  "You  can  be 
sure  that  things  will  take  no  harm  during  the  night, 
Mr.  Starr." 

"So  far  as  your  bank  goes,  there  doesn't  seem  to 
be  much  left  to  harm,  Britt,"  snapped  back  the 
examiner.  He  fished  one  of  the  disks  from  his  vest 
pocket  and  surveyed  it  grimly.  "As  to  these  assets, 

175  " 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

• 
whatever  they  may  be,  I  don't  think  you  need  to 

fear — except  that  small  boys  may  want  to  steal  'em 
to  use  for  sinkers  or  to  scale  on  the  water  next  summer. 
What  are  they,  anyway?  Does  anybody  know?" 

Britt  had  plucked  one  of  the  disks  from  his  pocket 
and  was  inspecting  it.  He  hastened  to  say  that  he 
had  never  seen  anything  of  the  sort  till  that  evening. 

Prophet  Elias  seemed  to  be  taking  no  further  in 
terest  in  affairs.  He  went  to  the  door  leading  into 
the  corridor.  It  was  locked.  "I'd  like  to  get  out," 
he  suggested. 

"Now  that  the  other  way  through  the  vaults  has 
become  the  main-traveled  avenue  of  the  village, 
why  don't  you  go  out  as  you  came  in?"  was  Starr's 
sardonic  query. 

The  Prophet  was  not  ruffled.  "I  would  gladly  do 
so,  but  the  door  of  the  grille  is  locked." 

"Ah,  that  accounts  for  the  fact  that  everybody 
else  in  Egypt  isn't  in  this  office  on  your  heels!  Britt, 
let  him  out!" 

The  president  obeyed,  unlocking  the  door,  and  the 
Prophet  joined  the  crowd  in  the  corridor.  Starr  went 
to  the  door  and  addressed  the  folks.  "Allow  me  to 
call  your  attention,  such  of  you  as  are  handy  to  this 
door,  to  Cashier  Vaniman."  He  jerked  a  gesture 
over  his  shoulder.  "You  can  see  that  he  is  all  right. 
We  are  giving  out  no  information  to-night.  I  order 
you,  one  and  all,  to  leave  this  building  at  once.  I 
mean  business!" 

176 


Via  the  President's  Private  Way 

He  waited  till  the  movement  of  the  populace 
began,  gave  Dorsey  some  sharp  commands,  and 
banged  the  door.  But  when  he  turned  to  face  those 
in  the  office  he  reached  behind  himself  and  opened 
the  door  again;  the  sight  of  the  girl  had  prompted 
him.  "I  suggest  that  this  is  a  good  time  for  you  to 
be  going  along,  Miss  Harnden.  You'll  have  plenty 
of  company." 

But  she  showed  no  inclination  to  go.  She  was 
exhibiting  something  like  a  desperate  resolve.  "Will 
you  please  shut  the  door,  Mr.  Starr?" 

He  obeyed. 

"It's  in  regard  to  those  disks!  They  are  coat 
weights!" 

Starr  fished  out  his  souvenir  once  more  and  in 
spected  it;  his  face  showed  that  he  had  not  been 
illuminated  especially. 

"Women  understand  such  things  better  than  men, 
of  course,"  she  went  on.  "Dressmakers  stitch  those 
weights  into  the  lower  edges  of  women's  suit  coats  to 
make  the  fabric  drape  properly  and  hang  without 
wrinkling." 

"You're  a  woman  and  you  probably  know  what 
you're  talking  about  on  that  line,"  admitted  the 
examiner.  "But  because  you're  a  woman  I  don't 
suppose  you  can  tell  me  how  coat  weights  happen  to 
be  the  main  cash  assets  of  this  bank!"  Mr.  Starr's 
manner  expressed  fully  his  contemptuous  convictions 
on  that  point. 

177 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"I  certainly  cannot  say  how  those  weights  happen 
to  be  in  the  bank,  sir.  But  I  feel  that  this  is  the  time 
for  everybody  in  our  town  to  give  in  every  bit  of 
information  that  will  help  to  clear  up  this  terrible 
thing.  I'm  taking  that  attitude  for  myself,  Mr. 
Starr,  and  I  hope  that  all  others  are  going  to  be  as 
frank."  She  gave  President  Britt  a  fearless  stare  of 
challenge.  "My  father  has  recently  had  a  great 
deal  of  new  courage  about  some  of  the  inventions  he 
hopes  to  put  through.  He  has  told  me  that  Mr. 
Britt  is  backing  him  financially." 

"Your  father  is  everlastingly  shinning  up  a  moon 
beam,  and  you  know  it,"  declared  Britt. 

"Yes,  I  know  all  about  my  father,  Mr.  Britt.  But 
I'm  merely  stating  what  he  told  me." 

Starr  shook  his  hand,  pinching  the  disk  between 
thumb  and  forefinger.  "Young  woman,  I'm  inter 
ested  only  in  this,  if  you  have  any  information  to 
give  me  in  regard  to  it." 

Vaniman  was  displaying  an  interest  of  his  own 
that  was  but  little  short  of  amazement. 

"The  information  I  have  is  this,  sir!  My  father 
said  that  Mr.  Britt's  help  had  enabled  him  to  start 
in  manufacturing  a  patent  door  which  requires  the 
use  of  many  washers  with  small  holes,  and  he  was 
saying  at  home  that  he'd  be  obliged  to  have  them 
turned  out  by  a  blacksmith.  I  happened  to  be 
making  over  something  for  mother  and  I  had  some 
coat  weights  on  my  table.  I  showed  them  to  my 

178 


Via  the  President's  Private  Way 

father  and  he  said  they  were  just  the  thing.  He  found 
out  where  they  were  made  and  he  ordered  a  quan 
tity — they  came  in  little  kegs  and  he  stored  them  in 
the  stable.  That's  all,  Mr.  Starr!" 

"All?    Go  ahead  and  tell  me—" 

"I  have  told  you  all  I  know,  sir!  That's  the  stand 
I'm  taking,  whatever  may  come  up.  If  you  expect 
me  to  tell  you  that  these  are  the  disks  my  father 
stored  in  the  stable,  I  shall  do  no  such  thing.  The 
kegs  and  the  disks  may  be  there  right  now,  for  all  I 
know."  She  faced  the  examiner  with  an  intrepidity 
which  made  that  gentleman  blink.  It  was  plain 
enough  that  he  wanted  to  say  something — but  he 
did  not  venture  to  say  it. 

"And  now  I'll  go!  I  think  my  father  must  be  out 
there  waiting  for  me.  If  you  care  to  stay  here  long 
enough,  I'll  have  him  hurry  back  from  our  home  and 
report  whether  the  kegs  are  still  in  the  stable." 

"We'll  wait,  Miss  Harnden!"  Starr  opened  the 
door. 

Passing  Vaniman,  she  patted  his  hand,  contenting 
herself  with  that  furtive  caress  because  the  curious 
eyes  in  the  corridor  were  taking  advantage  of  the 
open  door. 

After  she  had  gone,  Britt  closed  the  door  of  his 
vault  and  shot  the  bolts. 

The  three  men  kept  off  the  dangerous  topic  except 
as  they  conferred  on  the  pressing  business  in  hand. 
They  helped  Dorsey  hurry  the  lingerers  from  the 

179 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

building.    Then  they  went  into  the  bank,  stored  the 
books  in  the  vault,  and  locked  it. 

Starr,  especially  intent  on  collecting  all  items  of 
evidence,  found  in  the  vault,  when  he  entered,  a 
cloth  that  gave  off  the  odor  of  chloroform.  On  one 
corner  of  the  cloth  was  a  loop  by  which  it  could  be 
suspended  from  a  hook. 

"Is  this  cloth  anything  that  has  been  about  the 
premises?"  asked  the  official. 

"It's  Vona's  dustcloth,"  stated  Britt.  He  had 
watched  the  girl  too  closely  o'  mornings  not  to  know 
that  cloth! 

That  information  seemed  to  prick  Starr's  memory 
on  another  point.  From  his  trousers  pocket  he  dug 
the  tape  which  he  had  cut  from  Vaniman's  wrists. 
He  glanced  about  the  littered  floor.  There  was  the 
remnant  of  a  roll  of  tape  on  the  floor.  Mr.  Starr 
rapped  the  fragment  of  tape  in  a  sheet  of  paper 
along  with  the  roll. 

Then  Mr.  Harnden  arrived.  The  outer  door  had 
been  left  open  for  him.  He  had  run  so  fast  that  his 
breath  came  in  whistles  with  the  effect  of  a  penny 
squawker.  As  the  movie  scenarios  put  it,  he  "got 
over,"  with  gestures  and  breathless  mouthings  rather 
than  stated  in  so  many  words,  that  the  kegs  of  disks 
were  gone — all  of  them. 

Replying  with  asthmatic  difficulty  to  questions 
put  to  him  by  Starr,  Mr.  Harnden  stated  that  he 
could  not  say  with  any  certainty  when  the  kegs  had 

180 


Via  the  President's  Private  Way 

been  taken,  nor  could  he  guess  who  had  taken  them. 
He  kept  no  horse  or  cow  and  had  not  been  into  the 
stable  since  he  put  the  kegs  there.  The  stable  was 
not  locked.  He  had  always  had  full  faith  in  the 
honesty  of  his  fellow-man,  said  the  optimist. 

Mr.  Starr  allowed  that  he  had  always  tried  to  feel 
that  same  way,  too,  but  stated  that  he  had  been 
having  his  feelings  pretty  severely  wrenched  since  he 
had  arrived  in  the  town  of  Egypt. 

Then  he  and  Vaniman  left  the  bank  to  go  to  the 
tavern. 

Outside  the  door,  a  statue  of  patience,  Squire 
Hexter  was  waiting. 

"I  didn't  use  my  pull  as  a  director  to  get  under 
foot  in  there,  Brother  Starr.  No,  just  as  soon  as  I 
heard  that  the  boy,  here,  was  all  right  I  stepped  out 
and  coaxed  out  all  the  others  I  could  prevail  on. 
What  has  been  done  about  starting  the  general  hue 
and  cry  about  those  robbers?" 

Starr  stammered  when  he  said  that  he  supposed 
that  the  local  constable  had  notified  the  sheriff. 

"I  attended  to  that,  myself!  Dorsey  could  think 
of  only  one  thing  at  a  time.  But  I  reckoned  you  had 
taken  some  steps  to  make  the  call  more  official. 
The  state  police  ought  to  be  on  the  job." 

"I'll  attend  to  it."  But  Mr.  Starr  did  not  display 
particularly  urgent  zeal. 

"Well,  son,  we'll  toddle  home!    What  say?" 

Vaniman  did  not  say.  He  was  choking.  Reaction 

181 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

and  grief  and  anxiety  were  unnerving  him.  Starr 
did  the  saying.  "The  cashier  and  I  have  a  lot  of 
things  to  go  over,  Squire,  and  he  plans  to  spend  the 
night  with  me  at  the  tavern." 

"I  see!"  returned  the  notary,  amiably,  showing 
no  surprise.  He  called  a  cheery  "Good  night!" 
when  he  left  them  at  the  tavern  door. 

Landlord  Files  gave  them  a  room  with  two  beds. 
Without  making  any  bones  of  the  thing,  Examiner 
Starr  pushed  his  bed  across  the  door  and  then 
turned  in  and  snored  with  the  abandon  of  one  who 
had  relieved  himself  of  the  responsibility  of  keeping 
vigil. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

LOOKED   AT   SQUARELY 

PHE  bank  examiner  and  the  cashier  were  down 
•*•    early  to  breakfast. 

Starr  had  slept  well  and  was  vigorously  alert. 
Vaniman  was  haggard  and  visibly  worried.  Both  of 
them  were  reticent. 

Vaniman  felt  that  he  had  nothing  to  say,  as 
matters  stood. 

Starr  was  thinking,  rather  than  talking.  He 
snapped  up  Files  when  the  landlord  meekly  inquired 
whether  there  were  any  clews.  Files  retreated  in  a 
panic. 

"Vaniman,"  said  the  examiner,  when  they  pulled 
on  their  coats  under  the  alligator's  gaping  espionage, 
"this  is  going  to  be  my  busy  day  and  I  hope  you  feel 
like  pitching  into  this  thing  with  me,  helping  to  your 
utmost." 

"You  can  depend  on  me,  Mr.  Starr/' 

"I  don't  intend  to  bother  you  with  any  questions 
at  present  except  to  ask  about  the  routine  business  of 
the  bank.    So  you  can  have  your  mind  free  on  that 
point." 
13  I83 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

They  went  to  the  bank  and  relieved  Britt. 

"Go  get  your  breakfast  and  come  back  here  as 
soon  as  you  can,"  Starr  commanded,  plunging  into 
matters  with  the  air  of  the  sole  captain  of  the  craft. 
"And  call  a  meeting  of  the  directors." 

The  examiner  had  brought  a  brief-case  along  with 
him  from  the  tavern.  He  pulled  out  a  card.  Britt 
winced  when  he  saw  what  was  printed  on  the  card. 

THIS  BANK  CLOSED 

pending    examination    of   resources    and    liabilities    and 
auditing  of  accounts.    Per  order  STATE  BANK  EXAMINERS. 

Mr.  Starr  ordered  Britt  to  tack  that  card  on  the 
outer  door. 

"Isn't  there  any  other  way  but  this?"  asked  the 
president. 

"There's  nothing  else  to  be  done — certainly  not! 
I'm  afraid  the  institution  is  in  a  bad  way,  Britt. 
You  say  you  have  been  calling  regular  loans  in  order 
to  build  up  a  cash  reserve — and  your  cash  isn't  in 
sight.  I  reckon  it  means  that  the  stockholders  will 
be  assessed  the  full  hundred  per  cent  of  liability." 

He  bolted  the  bank  door  behind  the  president. 

"Now,  Vaniman,  did  you  find  out  anything 
sensible  about  those  books,  as  far  as  you  got  last 
evening?" 

"Only  that  the  accounts  seem  to  have  been  will 
fully  tangled  up." 

184 


Looked  at  Squarely 

"Then  we'll  let  that  part  of  the  thing  hang.  Get 
out  letters  to  depositors,  calling  in  all  pass  books." 

After  Vaniman  had  set  himself  down  to  that  task, 
Starr  went  about  his  business  briskly.  He  prepared 
telegrams  and  sent  his  charioteer  to  put  them  on  the 
wire  at  Levant.  Those  messages  were  intended  to 
set  in  operation  the  state  police,  a  firm  of  licensed 
auditors,  the  security  company  which  had  bonded 
the  bank's  officials,  the  insurance  corporation  which 
guaranteed  the  Egypt  Trust  Company  against  loss 
by  burglars.  Then  Starr  proceeded  with  the  usual 
routine  of  examination  as  conducted  when  banks  are 
going  concerns. 

For  the  next  few  days  Egypt  was  on  the  map. 

Ike  Jones  was  obliged  to  put  extra  pungs  on  to  his 
stage  line  for  the  accommodation  of  visitors  who 
included  accountants,  newspaper  reporters,  insurance 
men,  and  security  representatives. 

Finally,  so  far  as  Starr's  concern  was  involved,  the 
affairs  of  the  Egypt  Trust  Company  were  shaken 
down  into  something  like  coherence.  The  apparent 
errors  in  the  books,  when  they  had  been  checked  by 
pass  books  and  notes  and  securities,  were  resolved 
into  a  mere  wanton  effort  to  mix  things  up. 

Mr.  Starr  took  occasion  to  reassure  Miss  Harnden 
in  regard  to  those  books;  during  the  investigation 
the  girl  had  been  working  with  Vaniman  in  the 
usual  double-hitch  arrangement  which  had  prevailed 
before  the  day  of  disaster.  The  two  plodded  steadily, 

185 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

faithfully,  silently,  under  the  orders  of  the  ex 
aminer. 

"Now  that  I've  seen  you  at  work,  Miss  Harnden, 
I  eliminate  carelessness  and  stupidity  as  the  reasons 
for  the  books  being  as  they  are.  That's  the  way  I'm 
going  at  this  thing — by  the  process  of  elimination. 
I'm  going  to  say  more!  I'm  eliminating  you  as  being 
consciously  responsible  for  any  of  the  wrongdoing 
in  this  bank.  That's  about  as  far  as  I've  got  in  the 
matter  of  elimination."  He  thumped  his  fist  on  a 
ledger.  "It  looks  to  me  as  if  somebody  had  started 
to  put  something  over  by  mixing  these  figures  and 
had  been  tripped  before  finishing  the  job." 

Then  Mr.  Starr,  as  if  to  show  his  appreciation  of  a 
worthy  young  woman  whom  he  had  treated  in 
rather  cavalier  fashion  at  their  first  meeting,  made 
her  clerk  to  the  receiver;  the  receiver  was  Almon 
Waite,  an  amiable  old  professor  of  mathematics, 
retired,  who  had  come  back  to  Egypt  to  pass  his  last 
days  with  his  son.  Examiner  Starr,  having  taken  it 
upon  himself  to  put  the  Egypt  Trust  case  through, 
had  found  in  Professor  Waite  a  handy  sort  of  a  soft 
rubber  stamp. 

Every  afternoon,  day  by  day,  Starr  had  remarked 
casually  to  Vaniman,  "Seeing  that  we  have  so  many 
things  to  talk  over,  you'd  better  lodge  with  me  at 
the  hotel  to-night!"  And  daily  Vaniman  agreed 
without  the  flicker  of  an  eyelid.  In  view  of  the  fact 
that  both  of  them  kept  sedulously  off  the  bank 

186 


Looked  at  Squarely 

business  after  hours,  there  was  a  perfect  understand 
ing  between  the  examiner  and  the  cashier  as  to  what 
this  espionage  meant.  And  Vaniman  knew  per 
fectly  well  just  why  a  chap  named  Bixby  was  in 
town! 

Having  a  pretty  good  knowledge  of  Starr's  general 
opinions  and  prejudices,  the  cashier  had  squared 
himself  to  meet  things  as  they  came  along.  Once  or 
twice  Starr  gave  the  young  man  an  opportunity  to 
come  across  with  explanations  or  defense.  Vaniman 
kept  silent. 

The  cashier  explained  his  sentiments  to  Vona. 
"It's  mighty  little  ammunition  I've  got,  dear!  All 
I  can  do  now  is  to  keep  it  dry,  and  wait  till  I  can  see 
the  whites  of  the  enemy's  eyes." 

He  refrained  from  any  comment  on  the  identity 
of  the  enemy.  He  did  not  need  to  name  names  to 
Vona.  The  attitude  of  Tasper  Britt,  who  kept  by 
himself  in  his  own  office;  who  offered  not  one  word 
of  suggestion  or  explanation  or  consolation;  who  sur 
veyed  Vaniman,  when  the  two  met  at  the  tavern, 
with  the  reproachful  stare  of  the  benefactor  who 
had  been  betrayed — Britt's  attitude  was  sufficiently 
significant.  Vaniman  was  waiting  to  see  what  Britt 
would  do  in  the  crisis  that  was  approaching.  "At 
any  rate,  I  must  keep  silent  until  I'm  directly  ac 
cused,  Vona.  Starr  is  regularly  talking  with  Britt. 
If  I  begin  now  to  defend  myself  by  telling  about 
Britt's  operations,  I'll  merely  be  handing  weapons 

187  " 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

to  the  enemy.  They  can't  surprise  me  by  any  charge 
they  may  bring!  I  have  got  myself  stiffened  up  to 
that  point.  You  must  make  up  your  mind  that  it's 
coming.  Pile  up  courage  beforehand!" 

It  was  a  valiant  little  speech.  But  he  was  obliged 
to  strive  heroically  to  make  his  countenance  fit  his 
words  of  courage.  In  facing  the  situation  squarely 
he  had  been  trying  to  make  an  estimate  of  the  state 
of  mind  in  Egypt.  He  bitterly  decided  that  the  folks 
were  lining  up  against  the  outlander.  As  hateful 
as  Britt  had  made  himself,  he  was  Egyptian, 
born  and  bred.  Vaniman  knew  what  the  wreck  of 
the  little  bank  signified  in  that  town,  which  was 
already  staggering  under  its  debt  burden.  How 
that  bank  had  been  wrecked  was  not  clear  to  Vani 
man,  even  when  he  gave  the  thing  profound  consider 
ation.  He  did  not  dare  to  declare  to  himself  all  that 
he  suspected  of  the  president.  Nor  did  he  dare  to 
believe  that  Britt  would  dump  the  whole  burden  on 
the  cashier.  However,  if  Britt  undertook  such  a  play 
of  perfidy,  the  outlander  knew  that  the  native  would 
have  the  advantage  in  the  exchange  of  accusation. 

Vaniman  perceived  the  existing  state  of  affairs  in 
the  demeanor  of  the  men  whom  he  met  on  the  street, 
going  to  and  from  the  tavern.  He  heard  some  of 
their  remarks.  He  strove  to  keep  a  calm  face  while 
his  soul  burned! 

Then,  at  last,  Examiner  Starr  acted.  He  employed 
peculiar  methods  to  fit  a  peculiar  case. 

188 


Looked  at  Squarely 

One  afternoon  Starr  sat  and  stared  for  some  time 
atVaniman.  They  were  alone  in  the  bank.  Receiver 
Waite  and  Vona  had  gone  away. 

"Would  you  relish  a  little  show?"  inquired  the 
examiner. 

Vaniman  had  nerved  himself  against  all  kinds  of 
surprise,  he  thought,  but  he  was  not  prepared  for 
this  proffer  of  entertainment.  He  frankly  declared 
that  he  did  not  understand. 

"Seeing  that  you  are  doubtful,  we'll  have  the 
show,  anyway,  and  you  can  tell  me  later  whether  or 
not  you  relish  it."  He  opened  the  door  and  called. 
Bixby  came  in.  It  was  evident  that  Bixby  had  been 
waiting. 

"All  ready!"  said  Starr. 

"All  right!"  said  Bixby. 

"I'll  say  that  Bixby,  here,  is  an  operator  from  a 
detective  agency,  in  case  you  don't  know  it,"  ex 
plained  the  examiner. 

"I  do  know  it,  sir!" 

Bixby  pulled  off  his  overcoat  Under  it  he  wore  a 
mohair  office  coat.  He  yanked  off  that  garment, 
ripped  the  sleeves,  tore  the  back  breadth,  and  threw 
the  coat  under  a  stool.  Then  he  secured  a  dustcloth 
from  a  hook,  produced  a  small  vial  of  chloroform, 
and  poured  some  of  the  liquid  on  the  cloth.  He 
poured  more  of  the  chloroform  on  his  hair  and  his 
vest.  Then  he  laid  down  the  cloth  and  got  a  roll  of 
tape  out  of  a  drawer.  He  cut  off  a  length  and  made 

189 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

a  noose,  slipped  it  over  his  wrists,  bent  down  and 
laid  the  end  of  the  tape  on  the  floor,  stood  on  it,  and 
pulled  taut  the  noose  until  the  flesh  was  ridged. 
He  stooped  again  and  picked  up  two  metal  disks 
which  Starr  tossed  on  the  floor;  the  detective  did 
this  easily,  although  his  wrists  were  noosed. 

"Not  the  exact  program,  perhaps,  but  near 
enough,"  Starr  commented. 

With  equal  ease  Bixby  laid  the  disks  carefully  on 
the  flange  of  the  sill  of  the  vault.  Then  he  took  the 
cloth  from  the  desk,  went  to  the  vault,  stooped  and 
thumped  his  head  up  against  the  projecting  lever. 
He  went  into  the  vault  and  carefully  pulled  the  door 
shut  after  him,  both  hands  on  the  main  bolt. 

Star  was  silent  for  some  moments,  exchanging 
looks  with  the  cashier. 

"Any  comments?"  inquired  the  manager  of  the 
show. 

"None,  sir." 

"I'll  simply  say  that  the  chloroform  cloth  can  be 
put  to  the  nose  as  occasion  calls  for.  Bixby  isn't 
doing  that.  I  told  Bixby  that  for  the  purposes  of 
demonstration  he  might  count  one  hundred  slow 
and  then  figure  that  he  had  used  up  the  oxygen  in 
the  vault,  and  then,  if  nobody  came  to  open  the  door, 
he  could — well,  he  isn't  in  there  to  commit  suicide, 
but  only  to  create  an  impression.  I  ask  again — any 
comments?" 

Vaniman  shook  his  head. 

190 


Looked  at  Squarely 

Then  the  door  swung  open.  Bixby  was  on  his 
bade,  his  heels  in  the  air.  He  had  pushed  the  door 
with  his  feet,  his  shoulders  against  the  inner  door. 
He  rose  and  came  out.  Starr  cut  the  tape  with  the 
office  shears. 

"That's  all!"  said  the  manager. 

Bixby,  not  troubling  about  the  torn  office  jacket, 
put  on  his  overcoat  and  departed. 

Starr  took  a  lot  of  time  in  lighting  a  cigar  and 
getting  a  good  clinch  on  the  weed  with  his  teeth. 
He  spoke  between  those  teeth.  "It's  your  move, 
Vaniman." 

"I  haven't  agreed  to  sit  in  at  that  kind  of  a  game," 
stated  the  young  man,  firmly. 

"But  you'll  have  to  admit  that  I'm  playing  mighty 
fair,"  insisted  the  examiner.  "When  we  talked  in 
Britt's  office,  you  and  I  agreed  that  it  wasn't  likely 
that  a  chap  would  run  risks  or  commit  suicide  by 
shutting  himself  up  in  a  bank  vault  with  a  time  lock 
on.  That's  about  the  only  point  we  did  agree  on. 
I'm  showing  you  that  I  don't  agree  with  you  now, 
even  on  that  point.  That  being  the  case,  you've 
got  to — show  me."  Starr  emphasized  the  last 
two  words  by  stabbing  at  his  breast  with  the 
cigar. 

"The  idea  is,  Mr.  Starr,  you  believe  that  I  framed 
a  fake  robbery,  or  something  that  looked  like  a  rob 
bery,  in  order  to  cover  myself."  Frank  stood  up  and 
spoke  hotly. 

191 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

Mr.  Starr  jumped  up  and  was  just  as  heated  in 
his  retort.  "Yes!" 

"But  the  whole  thing — the  muddling  of  the  bank's 
books — the  disks — a  man  shoving  himself  into  the 
vault — I'd  have  to  be  a  lunatic  to  perform  in  that 
fashion!" 

"They  say  there's  nothing  new  under  the  sun! 
There  is,  just  the  same!  Some  crook  is  thinking  up 
a  new  scheme  every  day!" 

"By  the  gods,  you  shall  not  call  me  a  crook!" 

"You,  yourself,  are  drawing  that  inference.  But 
I  don't  propose  to  deal  in  inferences — " 

"Starting  in  the  first  day  you  struck  this  town, 
hounding  me  on  account  of  matters  I  had  no  knowl 
edge  of,  Mr.  Starr,  was  drawing  a  damnable  inference." 

"It  has  been  backed  up  by  some  mighty  good 
evidence!" 

"What  is  your  evidence?" 

The  examiner  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke,  then  he 
fanned  the  screen  away  and  squinted  at  Vaniman. 
"If  you  ever  hear  of  me  giving  away  the  state's 
case  in  any  matter  where  I'm  concerned,  you'll  next 
hear  of  me  committing  suicide  by  locking  myself 
into  a  bank  vault.  Calm  down,  Mr.  Cashier!" 

Starr  walked  close  to  Vaniman  and  tapped  a 
stubby  forefinger  against  the  young  man's  heaving 
breast.  "I'm  going  to  give  you  a  chance,  young 
fellow!  I  staged  that  little  play  a  few  moments  ago 
so  that  you'd  see  what  a  fool  house  of  cards  you're 

192 


Looked  at  Squarely 

living  in!  I  hope  you  noted  carefully  that  we  did 
not  need  to  go  off  the  premises  for  any  of  our  props. 
I,  myself,  had  noted  in  your  case  that  everything 
that  was  used  came  from  the  premises.  Real  rob 
bers  usually  bring  their  own  stuff.  Even  that 
chloroform — " 

"I  know  nothing  about  the  chloroform,  sir." 

"Well,  the  vial  was  here  that  night,  anyway! 
It's  a  small  thing  to  waste  time  on!  I  don't  profess 
to  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  affair,  Vaniman.  I'll 
admit  that  it  looks  as  if  there's  a  lot  behind  this 
thing — plenty  that  is  interesting.  I've  got  my  full 
share  of  human  curiosity.  I'd  like  to  be  let  in  on 
this  thing,  first  hand.  Now  come  across  clean! 
The  whole  story!  Tell  me  where  the  coin  is!  It's 
certainly  a  queer  case,  and  there  must  be  some  twist 
in  it  where  I  can  do  you  a  good  turn.  I'm  giving 
you  your  chance,  I  say!" 

"I  have  no  more  idea  where  that  coin  is  than  you 
have,  Mr.  Starr.  I  never  touched  it.  I  have  already 
told  the  whole  truth,  so  far  as  I  know  facts." 

"Now  listen,  Vaniman!  This  town  is  already 
down!  If  that  gold  isn't  recovered  this  bank  failure 
will  put  the  town  out!  The  folks  are  ugly.  They're 
talking.  Britt  says  they  believe  you  have  hidden 
the  money!" 

"He  does  say  it!"  Vaniman  fairly  barked  the 
words.  "No  doubt  he  has  been  telling  'em  so!" 

Starr  proceeded  remorselessly.  "I  have  heard  all 
193 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

the  gossip  about  the  trouble  between  you  and  Britt. 
But  that  gossip  doesn't  belong  in  this  thing  right 
now.  Vaniman,  you  know  what  a  country  town  is 
when  it  turns  against  an  outsider!  If  you  go  before 
a  jury  on  this  case — and  that  money  isn't  in  sight — 
you  don't  stand  the  show  of  a  wooden  latch  on  the 
back  door  of  hell's  kitchen!  They'll  all  come  to 
court  with  what  they  can  grab  up  in  the  way  of 
brickbats — facts,  if  they  can  get  'em,  lies,  anyway! 
Come,  come,  now!  Dig  up  the  coin!" 

Starr's  bland  persistency  in  taking  for'granted  the 
fact  that  Vaniman  was  hiding  the  money  snapped 
the  overstrained  leash  of  the  cashier's  self-restraint. 
In  default  of  a  general  audience  of  the  hateful 
Egyptian  vilifiers,  he  used  Starr  as  the  object  of  his 
frenzied  vituperation. 

Mr.  Starr  listened  without  reply. 

As  soon  as  it  was  apparent  to  the  bank  examiner 
that  the  cashier  did  not  intend  to  take  advantage  of 
the  chance  that  had  been  offered,  Starr  marched  to 
the  door,  opened  it,  and  called.  The  corridor,  it 
seemed,  was  serving  as  repository  for  various  proper 
ties  required  in  the  drama  which  Mr.  Starr  had 
staged  that  day.  The  man  who  entered  wore  a  gold 
badge — and  a  gold  badge  marks  the  high  sheriff  of 
a  county.  Starr  handed  a  paper  to  the  officer. 
"Serve  it,"  he  commanded,  curtly. 

The  sheriff  walked  to  Vaniman  and  tapped  him  on 

the  shoulder.    "You're  under  arrest." 

194 


Looked  at  Squarely 

"Charged  with  what?" 

"I'm  making  it  fairly  easy  for  you,"  explained, 
Starr,  dryly,  appearing  to  be  better  acquainted  with 
the  nature  of  the  warrant  than  the  sheriff  was. 
"Burglary,  with  or  without  accomplices,  might  have 
been  charged — seeing  that  the  coin  has  been  re 
moved — in  the  nighttime,  of  course!  But  we're 
simply  making  the  charge  embezzlement!" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ON  THE   FACE   OF   IT 

CQUIRE  HEXTER  arranged  for  Vaniman's  bail, 
^  volunteering  for  that  service,  frankly  admitting 
that  he  "had  seen  it  coming  all  along"!  But  the 
Squire  was  not  as  ready  to  serve  as  Frank's  counsel 
and  withstood  the  young  man's  urging  for  some  time. 
The  Squire's  solicitude  in  behalf  of  the  accused  was 
the  reason  for  this  reluctance.  "You  ought  to  have 
the  smartest  city  lawyer  you  can  hire.  I'm  only  an 
old  country  codger,  son!" 

"Squire  Hexter,  I  propose  to  let  the  other  side 
have  a  monopoly  of  the  tricks.  I'm  depending  on 
my  innocence,  and  I  want  your  honesty  back  of  it." 

In  the  hope  that  the  folks  of  Egypt  would  recog 
nize  innocence  when  they  saw  it,  Vaniman  daily 
walked  the  streets  of  the  village.  The  pride  of  inno 
cence  was  soon  wounded;  he  learned  that  his  action 
in  "shoving  himself  under  folks's  noses"  was  con 
sidered  as  bravado.  The  light  of  day  showed  him 
so  many  sour  looks  that  he  stayed  in  the  house  with 
Xoa  or  in  the  Squire's  office  until  night.  Then  he 
discovered  that  when  he  walked  abroad  under 

196 


On  the  Face  of  It 

cover  of  the  darkness  he  was  persistently  trailed; 
it  was  evident  that  the  belief  that  he  had  hidden  the 
coin  of  the  Egypt  Trust  Company  was  sticking  firmly 
in  the  noddles  of  the  public. 

The  bank,  of  course,  was  now  forbidden  ground 
for  him.  The  affairs  of  that  unhappy  institution 
were  being  wound  up.  Considering  the  fact  that  the 
stockholders  had  been  assessed  dollar  for  dollar  of 
their  holdings,  and  that,  even  with  this  assessment 
added  to  the  assets,  the  depositors  would  get  back 
only  a  fraction  of  their  money,  Vaniman  could 
scarcely  marvel  at  the  hard  looks  and  the  muttered 
words  he  met  up  with  on  the  street. 

Furthermore,  the  insurance  company  took  the 
stand  that  the  bank  had  not  been  burglarized.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  security  company  behind  Vani- 
man's  bond  refused  to  settle,  claiming  that  some 
kind  of  a  theft  had  been  committed  by  outsiders. 
Only  after  expensive  litigation  could  Receiver  Waite 
hope  to  add  insurance  and  bond  money  to  the  assets. 
The  prospects  of  getting  anything  were  clouded  by 
the  revelations  concerning  President  Britt's  private 
entrance  to  the  bank  vault.  But  Britt  was  not  ac 
cused  of  anything  except  of  presuming  on  too  many 
liberties  in  running  a  one-man  bank.  Under  some 
circumstances  Britt  would  have  been  called  to  an 
accounting,  without  question.  But  all  the  venom  of 
suspicion  was  wholly  engaged  with  Frank  Vaniman, 
the  son  of  an  embezzler. 

197 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

Squire  Hexter,  armed  with  authority  and  informa 
tion  given  him  by  the  young  man,  had  repeatedly 
waited  on  Tasper  Britt  and  had  asked  what  attitude 
the  president  proposed  to  take  at  the  trial.  Britt 
had  said  that  he  should  tell  the  truth,  and  that  was 
all  any  witness  could  be  expected  to  do  or  to  promise; 
furthermore,  so  he  told  the  Squire,  he  had  been 
enjoined  by  his  counsel  to  make  no  talk  to  anybody. 

Vaniman  was  not  sure  of  his  self-restraint  during 
that  period  of  waiting.  There  were  days  when  he 
felt  like  slapping  the  faces  that  glowered  when  he 
looked  at  them.  He  avoided  any  meeting  with  Britt. 
That  was  easy,  because  Britt  swung  with  pendulum 
regularity  between  house  and  tavern,  tavern  and 
office. 

There  were  days  when  Vaniman  was  so  thoroughly 
disheartened  that  he  pleaded  with  Vona  to  make  a 
show  of  breaking  off  their  friendship.  She  had  in 
sisted  on  displaying  herself  as  his  champion;  obeying 
her,  he  walked  in  her  company  to  and  from  the  bank 
with  more  or  less  regularity.  His  spirit  of  chivalry 
made  the  snubs  harder  to  endure  when  she  was 
obliged  to  share  them  in  his  company. 

But  Vona  stanchly  refused  to  be  a  party  to  such 
deception.  She  borrowed  some  figures  of  speech  sug 
gested  by  the  work  she  was  doing  in  the  bank  and 
declared  that  her  loyalty  was  not  insolvent  and  that 
she  would  not  make  any  composition  with  her 

conscience. 

198 


On  the  Face  of  It 

In  her  zeal  to  be  of  service,  one  day  she  even  volun 
teered  to  interview  Tasper  Britt  on  the  subject  of 
what  had  happened  to  the  Egypt  Trust  Company. 
On  that  fresh  April  morning  they  had  walked  up  the 
slope  of  Burkett  Hill,  where  the  sward  was  showing 
its  first  green.  He  had  come  to  her  house  earlier 
than  usual  so  that  she  might  have  time  for  the  little 
excursion.  They  hunted  for  mayflowers  and  found 
enough  to  make  a  bit  of  a  bouquet  for  her  desk  in 
the  office. 

"One  just  has  to  feel  hopeful  in  the  spring,  Frank," 
she  insisted,  brushing  the  blossoms  gently  against 
his  cheek.  From  the  slope  they  could  look  down 
into  the  length  of  Egypt's  main  street.  "Why,  there 
goes  Tasper  Britt  toward  his  office  and  he  actually 
waved  his  hand  to  a  man — honest!  The  spring  does 
soften  folks.  If  he  does  know  something  about  the 
inside  of  the  dreadful  puzzle,  as  you  and  I  have 
talked  so  many  times,  I  do  believe  I  can  coax  him  to 
tell  me." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  coax  him,  dear.  Squire 
Hexter  has  put  the  thing  up  to  Britt,  man  to  man, 
and  I  think  it  better  to  let  it  stand  that  way." 

"  But  if  we  could  get  only  a  little  hint  to  work  from ! " 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  find  him  as  stingy  with  hints 
as  he  is  with  everything  else.  He  does  know — 
something!  I  would  not  put  him  above  arranging 
that  frame-up  that  put  me  where  I  was  found  that 
night,"  he  declared,  with  bitterness. 
14  '99 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"No,  Frank,  I  tell  you  again  that  I  don't  believe 
he  knew  it  was  going  to  happen.  When  I  stood 
there  outside  the  curtain  that  night  I  was  looking 
straight  at  him,  and  at  nobody  else.  I  don't  re 
member  another  face.  Tasper  Britt  is  not  actor 
enough  to  make  up  the  expression  that  I  saw.  It 
was  simple,  absolute,  flabbergasted  fright!" 

They  started  down  the  slope  and  walked  in  silence. 

"He's  considerable  of  a  coward,"  Vaniman  ad 
mitted,  after  his  pondering.  "I'm  depending  on  that 
fact,  more  or  less.  I  don't  believe  he'll  dare  to  stand 
up  as  a  witness  in  court  and  perjure  himself.  Squire 
Hexter  has  a  line  of  questions  that  he  and  I  have 
prepared  very  carefully.  Britt  will  have  to  testify 
that  I  did  not  have  sole  opportunity.  In  considering 
crimes,  it's  proving  sole  opportunity  that  sends  folks 
to  prison!" 

She  turned  away  her  face  and  set  her  teeth  upon 
her  lower  lip,  controlling  her  agitation. 

"I'm  trying  to  face  the  thing  just  as  bravely  as  I 
can,  Vona.  On  the  face  of  it  I'm  in  bad!  When  I 
remember  how  Britt  maneuvered  with  me,  I  feel  like 
running  to  him  and  twisting  his  head  off  his  neck." 

When  they  arrived  in  front  of  Britt  Block,  Vani 
man  scowled  at  the  stone  effigy  in  its  niche.  Then, 
when  his  eyes  came  down  from  that  complacent 
countenance,  they  beheld  the  face  of  Tasper  Britt 
framed  in  his  office  window.  The  Britt  in  the  flesh 
was  distinctly  in  an  ugly  mood.  And  there  was  a 

200 


On  the  Face  of  It 

challenge  in  his  demeanor,  a  sneer  in  the  twist  of  his 
features. 

"Vona,  I'm  going  in  there,"  Vaniman  declared. 
"There's  got  to  be  a  showdown,  but  it's  no  job  for 
you!" 

She  offered  neither  protest  nor  advice.  At  that 
moment  the  young  man  was  manifestly  in  a  state  of 
mind  which  sudden  resolution  had  inflamed  with 
something  like  desperation.  When  he  strode  in 
through  the  front  door  Britt  disappeared  from  the 
window. 

Vona,  following  her  lover,  put  her  hand  on  his 
arm  when  he  arrived  in  front  of  the  office  door. 
"Don't  you  need  me  with  you  in  there?"  She 
could  not  hide  her  apprehensiveness. 

"I'm  going  to  hold  myself  in,  dear!  Don't  be 
worried.  But  it's  best  for  me  to  see  him  alone." 

He  waited  until  she  had  gone  into  the  bank 
office. 

He  did  not  bother  to  knock  on  Britt's  door.  When 
he  twisted  the  handle  he  found  that  the  door  was 
locked.  He  called,  but  Britt  did  not  reply.  He  put 
his  mouth  close  to  the  door.  "Mr.  Britt,  I  have  some 
business  to  talk  over  with  you.  Please  let  me  in!" 

He  waited.  The  man  inside  did  not  move  or  speak. 
"I'm  coming  in  there,  Britt,  even  if  I  have  to  kick 
this  door  down." 

But  the  threat  did  not  produce  any  results.  Vani 
man  stepped  back  and  drove  his  foot  against  the 

201 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

panel,  but  not  with  force  enough  to  break  the  lock. 
His  kick  was  in  the  way  of  admonition.  After  a  few 
moments  Britt  opened  the  door;  he  had  an  iron 
poker  in  his  hand.  Vaniman  marched  in.  "You 
don't  need  any  weapon,  sir." 

"I  think  I  do,  judging  from  the  way  you  came 
rushing  into  this  building.  Vaniman,  I  protest. 
I  have  said  my  say  to  your  attorney.  I  have  nothing 
more  to  add." 

"I'm  not  here  to  try  the  case,  Mr.  Britt.  I'll 
confess  that  I  did  not  intend  to  waste  my  breath  in 
talking  with  you.  But  I  could  not  resist  the  feeling 
that  came  over  me  a  few  moments  ago."  He  was 
standing  just  inside  the  door.  He  closed  it.  "You 
informed  Squire  Hexter  that  you  intend  to  tell  the 
tiuth  at  the  trial.  That's  all  right!  I  hope  so.  I 
have  no  criticism  to  offer  on  that  point.  But  there's 
a  matter  of  man's  business  between  us  two,  and  it 
belongs  here  rather  than  in  a  courtroom.  Do  you 
intend  to  tell  the  truth  about  how  you  framed  me?" 

"I  don't  understand  what  you  mean,"  returned 
Britt,  stiffly. 

"I'll  put  it  so  that  you  can't  help  understanding, 
sir.  You  rigged  a  plan  to  have  me  sleep  in  the  bank 
nights." 

"That  was  your  own  suggestion.  You  asked  to  be 
allowed  to  sleep  here." 

"You  intend  to  say  that  in  your  testimony,  do 


you?" 


202 


On  the  Face  of  It 

Britt  took  a  firm  hold  on  the  poker.  "I  most 
certainly  do." 

"You  cooked  up  an  excuse  to  send  me  off  on  a 
wild-goose  chase  in  the  night." 

"I  know  nothing  about  your  going  anywhere  in 
the  night — except  that  Files's  hostler  is  saying  that 
you  hired  a  hitch  for  some  purpose." 

Vaniman  knew  that  appeal  and  protest  would  be 
futile — realizing  the  full  extent  of  Britt's  effrontery. 
However,  in  his  amazement  he  began  to  rail  at  the 
president. 

Britt  broke  in  on  the  anathema.  "I  was  not  nigh 
the  bank  that  night.  I  was  asleep  in  my  own  house. 
You'd  better  not  try  any  such  ridiculous  story  in 
court — it  will  spoil  any  defense  Hexter  may  manage 
to  put  up  for  you.  Vaniman,  it's  plain  enough  why 
you  hired  that  hitch!  Why  don't  you  tell  where  you 
hauled  that  money?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  do  to  you  what  I  ought  to  do, 
Britt.  I'm  into  the  hole  deep  enough  as  it  is!  But 
let  me  ask  you  if  any  jury  is  going  to  believe  that  I 
was  lunatic  enough  to  hire  a  livery  hitch,  if  I  was 
hauling  away  loot?" 

"It's  my  idea,  Vaniman,  that  you  were  trying  to 
work  a  hold-up  game  on  the  bank,  knowing  that  you 
were  done  here,"  stated  Britt,  coolly.  "But  some 
thing  went  wrong  before  you  had  a  chance  to  offer  a 
compromise.  Naturally,  you  thought  we'd  do  'most 
anything  to  keep  our  little  bank  from  failing." 

203 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

The  young  man  beat  his  fist  on  his  breast.  "Have 
you  the  damnation  cheek,  Britt,  to  use  me,  the  vic 
tim,  to  rehearse  your  lies  on?" 

"I'm  giving  you  a  little  glimpse  of  the  evidence. 
If  the  hint  is  of  any  use  to  you,  you're  welcome." 

"Britt,  have  you  turned  into  a  demon?"  Vaniman 
demanded.  He  stared  at  the  usurer  with  honest 
incredulity. 

"I've  had  enough  setbacks,  in  recent  days,  to  craze 
'most  any  man,  I'll  admit.  But  I'm  keeping  along  in 
my  usual  course,  doing  the  right  thing  as  I  see  it." 

"Britt,  I  have  never  done  you  an  injury.  Are 
you  going  to  ruin  me  because  a  good  girl  loves  me?" 

"I  have  too  much  respect  for  that  young  lady  to 
allow  her  name  to  be  dragged  into  a  mess  of  this 
sort,"  stated  the  amazing  Britt.  "And  I  think 
that  she'll  wake  up  after  she  has  come  to  a  realizing 
sense  of  what  a  narrow  escape  she  has  had." 

Vaniman  stood  there,  his  hands  closing  and  un 
closing,  his  palms  itching  to  feel  the  contact  of 
Britt's  cheeks.  There  was  venom  in  Britt's  eyes. 
This  outrageous  baiting  was  satisfying  the  older 
man's  rancor — the  ugly  grudge  that  clawed  and  tore 
his  soul  when  he  sat  alone  in  his  chamber  and  gazed 
on  the  girl's  pictured  beauty.  Every  night,  after  he 
puffed  out  his  light,  he  muttered  the  same  speech — 
it  had  become  the  talisman  of  his  ponderings. 
"Whilst  I'm  staying  alone  here  he'll  be  alone  in  a 
cell  in  state  prison." 

204 


On  the  Face  of  It 

Vaniman  understood. 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  out  of  Britt's 
office. 

In  the  street  the  young  man  met  Prophet  Elias, 
who  was  adventuring  abroad  under  his  big  umbrella. 
Vaniman  was  in  a  mood  to  poke  ruthless  facts  against 
his  aches.  "Prophet,  you  ought  to  know  whether 
any  of  the  folks  in  this  town  believe  that  I'm  inno 
cent.  Are  there  any?" 

Elias,  ever  since  he  had  flung  to  the  cashier  the 
sage  advice  about  keeping  his  eye  peeled,  had  used 
texts  rarely  in  his  infrequent  talks  with  Vaniman. 

"Oh  yes,  there  are  a  few,"  he  said,  with  matter- 
of-fact  indifference.  "But  they  didn't  lose  money 
by  the  bank  failure." 

"What  do  you  think  about  me?" 

The  Prophet  cocked  his  eyebrow.  "Can  a  man 
take  fire  into  his  bosom,  and  his  clothing  not  be 
burned?'  Britt,  the  bank,  the  girl!  Three  hot 
torches,  young  sir!  Very  hot  torches!"  He  walked 
on.  Then  he  turned  and  came  back  and  patted 
Vaniman's  arm.  "You  didn't  keep  your  eye  peeled! 
The  young  are  thoughtless.  But  four  good  old  eyes 
will  be  serving  you  while  you're — away!  Mine  and 
Brother  Usial's." 

"Thank  you!"  said  the  young  man,  and  he  went 
on  his  way.  He  was  reflecting  on  that  text  the 
Prophet  had  enunciated. 

Might  it  not  apply  as  well  to  Tasper  Britt? 
205 


XVIII 

A   PERSISTENT   BELIEF 

\  7ANIMAN  was  indicted;  he  was  tried;  he  was 
*  convicted;  he  was  sentenced  to  serve  seven 
years  in  the  state  prison.  He  refused  to  allow 
Squire  Hexter  to  appeal  the  case.  He  had  no  taste 
for  further  struggle  against  the  circumstantial  evi 
dence  that  was  reinforced  by  perjury.  His  con 
sciousness  of  protesting  innocence  was  subjugated 
by  the  morose  determination  to  accept  the  unjust 
punishment. 

The  general  opinion  was  that  he  was  a  very  re 
fractory  young  man  because  he  would  not  disclose 
the  hiding  place  of  the  gold. 

Even  the  warden  of  the  prison  had  some  remarks 
to  make  on  that  subject.  The  chaplain  urged 
Vaniman  to  clear  his  conscience  and  do  what  he 
could  to  aid  the  distressed  inhabitants  of  a  bankrupt 
town.  This  conspiracy  of  persistent  belief  in  his 
guilt  put  a  raw  edge  on  his  mental  suffering. 

His  only  source  of  solace  was  the  weekly  letter 
from  Vona.  Her  fortitude  seemed  to  be  unaffected; 
her  loyalty  heartened  him.  And  after  a  time  hope 

206 


A  Persistent  Belief 

intervened  and  comforted  him;  although  Vaniman 
had  only  a  few  friends  on  the  job  for  him  in  Egypt, 
he  reflected  that  Tasper  Britt  had  plenty  of  enemies 
who  would  operate  constantly  and  for  the  indirect 
benefit  of  Britt's  especial  victim.  The  young  man 
felt  that  accident  might  disclose  the  truth  at  any 
time.  But  every  little  while  he  went  through  a 
period  of  acute  torture;  he  had  a  wild  desire  to  break 
out  of  his  prison,  to  be  on  the  ground  in  Egypt,  to 
go  at  the  job  of  unmasking  Britt  as  only  a  man 
vitally  interested  in  the  task  could  go  at  it! 

Sometimes  his  frenzy  reached  such  a  height  that 
it  resembled  the  affliction  that  pathologists  call 
claustrophobia.  He  stamped  to  and  fro  in  his  cell, 
after  the  bolts  had  been  driven  for  the  night;  he 
lamented  and  he  cursed,  muffling  his  tones.  And  a 
man  named  Bartley  Wagg,  having  taken  it  upon 
himself  to  keep  close  tabs  on  Vaniman's  state  of 
mind,  noted  the  prisoner's  rebellious  restlessness  with 
deepening  interest  and  coupled  a  lot  of  steady  pon 
dering  with  his  furtive  espionage. 

Wagg  was  a  prison  guard. 

After  Vaniman  was  committed,  Wagg  complained 
of  rheumatism  and  asked  the  warden  to  transfer 
him  from  the  wall  where  he  had  been  doing  sentry- 
go  with  a  rifle  and  give  him  an  inside  job  as  night 
warder.  And  the  warden  humored  Wagg,  who  was 
a  trusted  veteran. 

Wagg  made  regular  trips  along  the  cell  tiers  during 
207 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

the  night.  He  padded  as  noiselessly  as  a  cat,  for  he 
had  soles  of  felt  on  his  shoes.  Many  times,  keeping 
vigil  when  his  emotions  would  not  allow  him  to  sleep, 
Vaniman  saw  Wagg  halt  and  peer  through  the  bars 
of  the  cell.  The  corridor  light  showed  his  face. 
But  Wagg  did  not  accost  the  prisoner.  The  guard 
acted  like  a  man  who,  whatever  might  be  his  particu 
lar  interest  in  Vaniman,  proposed  to  take  plenty  of 
time  in  getting  acquainted. 

Once,  after  midnight,  Wagg  found  the  prisoner 
pacing;  Vaniman  dared  to  relieve  his  feelings  by 
groans,  for  the  chorus  of  snores  served  as  a  sound- 
screen. 

"Sick?'*  inquired  the  guard,  whispering. 

"No." 

"If  you  ever  are,  don't  be  afraid  to  call  on  me 
when  I  pass.  I've  got  a  good  heart." 

"Thank  you!" 

"I've  really  got  too  good  a  heart  to  be  tied  up  to 
a  prison  job,"  volunteered  Wagg.  "I  hate  to  see 
sorrow." 

"Sorrow  is  about  all  you  have  a  chance  to  see  in 
this  place." 

"Yes,"  admitted  the  guard,  sliding  away. 

The  warden  had  given  Vaniman  a  bookkeeper's 
job.  But  the  prison  office  was  a  gloomy  place  and 
the  windows  were  hatefully  barred.  Through  the 
bars  he  could  see  convict  toilers  wheeling  barrows  of 
dirt.  They  were  filling  up  a  lime-quarry  pit  within 

208 


A  Persistent  Belief 

the  walls.  In  the  old  days  convicts  had  quarried 
lime  rocks.  But  in  the  newer  days  of  shops  the 
quarry  was  abandoned  and  had  been  gradually 
rilled  with  stagnant  water.  When  the  prison  com 
missioners  decided  that  the  pool  was  a  menace  to 
health,  a  crew  was  set  at  work  filling  the  pit.  Vani- 
man  envied  the  men  who  could  work  in  the  sun 
shine.  He  was  everlastingly  behind  bars;  the  office 
was  not  much  better  than  his  cell.  The  bars  shut 
him  away  from  opportunity  to  make  a  man's  fight 
for  himself.  Every  time  he  looked  at  a  window  he 
was  reminded  of  his  helplessness.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  if  he  could  get  out  into  the  sunshine  and  toil 
till  his  muscles  ached  he  would  be  able  to  endure 
better  the  night  of  confinement  in  the  cell. 

He  blurted  out  that  much  of  confession  to  Wagg 
when  the  guard  discovered  him  pacing  in  the  narrow 
space  a  few  nights  later. 

"I  sympathize!"  whispered  Wagg.  "I  know  all 
about  your  case!"  Then  Wagg  passed  on. 

The  next  night  he  halted  long  enough  to  say  that, 
knowing  all  about  the  case  from  what  the  newspapers 
printed,  he  realized  just  why  Vaniman  found  it  so 
tough  to  be  locked  up. 

Then  Wagg  refrained  from  saying  anything  for 
several  nights.  The  prisoner  was  quite  sure  that  the 
guard  had  something  on  his  mind  outside  of  a  mere 
notion  of  being  polite;  in  the  case  of  Wagg,  so  har 
dened  a  veteran,  politeness  to  a  prisoner  would  have 

209 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

been  heresy.  Wondering  just  what  Wagg  was 
driving  at,  Vaniman  found  the  guard's  leisurely 
methods  tantalizing  in  the  extreme.  One  night  the 
prisoner  ventured  to  take  the  initiative;  he  stuck 
out  his  hand  to  signal  the  guard. 

Wagg,  it  was  manifest,  was  not  so  much  a  master 
of  facial  control  that  he  could  suppress  all  signs  of 
satisfaction.  He  looked  pleased — like  a  man  who 
had  employed  tactics  that  were  working  according 
to  plans  and  hopes. 

"Sick?" 

"Yes — heart  and  soul!  Body,  too!  Isn't  there 
any  way  of  my  getting  a  job  wheeling  that  dirt?" 

Wagg  made  his  noiseless  getaway.  He  departed 
suddenly,  without  a  word.  Until  the  next  night 
Vaniman  was  left  to  wonder  to  what  extent  he  had 
offended  the  official. 

But  Wagg  showed  no  signs  of  unfriendliness  when 
he  halted,  after  midnight,  at  the  cell  door.  "Feel 
any  better?" 

"No!" 

"I  reckon  I  understand.  Of  course  I  understand! 
Most  of  'em  that's  in  here  haven't  anything  special 
to  look  forward  to  when  they  get  out.  Your  case  is 
different.  Everything  to  look  forward  to!  No 
wonder  you  walk  the  cell." 

On  he  slid,  silently. 

Vaniman  had  read  the  Arabian  Nights  tales,  as 
they  were  divided  in  the  literal  translation.  He  re- 

2IO 


A  Persistent  Belief 

fleeted  whimsically  on  the  methods  of  the  story 
teller  who,  "having  said  her  permitted  say,"  was 
wont  to  stop  right  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  for  the 
sake  of  piquing  interest  in  what  was  to  follow. 

The  next  night  the  prisoner's  interest  was  height 
ened  into  real  amazement.  Wagg  stuck  his  hand 
through  the  bars  and  waggled  it  invitingly. 

"Take  it!"  he  urged,  sibilantly. 

For  a  dizzy  instant  Vaniman  was  moved  by  the 
expansive  hope  that  his  plight  had  appealed  to  this 
man;  he  hastened  to  take  what  Wagg  offered.  It 
was  a  small  cube  of  something. 

"Eat  it!"  said  the  guard. 

Holding  it  close  to  his  face,  to  make  an  inspection 
in  the  dim  light,  the  young  man  caught  the  scent  of 
the  cube.  It  was  a  piece  of  soap.  He  made  sure  by 
putting  it  to  his  nose. 

"Just  a  little  at  a  time — what  you  can  stomach," 
Wagg  urged.  He  passed  on. 

But  Vaniman  did  not  obey;  he  was  unable  to  com 
prehend  what  this  sort  of  fodder  signified;  he  broke 
the  cube  into  bits,  thinking  that  a  saw  might  be 
hidden.  It  was  only  soap — common  soap.  He  put 
the  bits  away  in  the  portfolio  he  was  allowed  to  have 
in  his  cell. 

Wagg  was  a  bit  testy  the  next  night  when  Vaniman 
confessed  that  he  had  not  eaten  any  of  the  soap. 

"You've  got  to  show  absolute  confidence  in  me — 
do  what  I  tell  you  to  do,"  insisted  the  guard. 

211 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"I  can't  eat  that  soap.    It  will  make  me  sick!" 

"You've  said  it!  But  eat  that  soap — a  little  at  a 
time — and  see  what  the  prison  doctor  says.  It  isn't 
easy  to  fool  prison  doctors — but  I've  been  on  this 
job  long  enough  to  know  how." 

That  was  Wagg's  longest  speech  to  date.  His 
earnestness  impressed  the  young  man.  He  managed 
to  eat  a  bit  of  the  soap  after  the  guard  had  departed. 
He  ate  more  in  the  morning  before  his  release  from 
the  cell.  He  put  some  crumbs  of  the  soap  in  his 
pockets  and  choked  down  the  hateful  substance 
when  he  found  an  opportunity  during  the  day. 

That  night  Wagg  had  a  few  more  words  to  say  on 
the  subject.  "One  of  the  biggest  birds  they  ever 
caged  at  Atlanta  fooled  the  doctors  and  got  his 
pardon  so  that  he  could  die  outside  the  pen.  Did 
he  die?  Bah-bah!  Soap!  Just  soap!" 

"So  you  think  the  pardon  plan  can  be  worked  in 
my  case,  do  you?" 

"Pardon  your  eye!"  scoffed  Wagg.  "That  isn't 
the  idea  at  all!" 

He  fed  soap  to  the  prisoner  for  many  nights,  but 
he  did  not  give  any  information.  However,  Wagg 
had  the  air  of  a  man  who  knew  well  what  he  was 
about,  and  Vaniman  was  desperate  enough  to  con 
tinue  the  horrible  diet,  having  found  that  Mr.  Wagg 
was  a  very  touchy  person  when  his  policies  were 
doubted  or  his  good  faith  questioned. 

Then,  one  day  the  prison  doctor,  who  had  been 
212 


A  Persistent  Belief 

observing  Vaniman  for  some  time,  took  the  book 
keeper  into  his  office  and  examined  him  thoroughly; 
he  gravely  informed  the  warden  that  the  young  man 
had  symptoms  of  incipient  kidney  trouble  and  ought 
to  be  less  closely  confined. 

When  Vaniman  found  himself  out  in  the  sunshine, 
intrusted  with  the  sinecure  of  checking  up  barrow- 
loads  of  dirt  which  convicts  wheeled  past  him 
where  he  sat  in  an  armchair  provided  by  the  warden 
from  his  office,  the  prisoner  perceived  that  the  Wagg 
policies  were  effective  in  getting  results. 

Having  added  respect  for  Mr.  Wagg's  ability  in 
general,  Vaniman  was  not  surprised  to  find  the  guard 
following  the  favored  prisoner  into  the  new  field  of 
operations.  The  young  man  was  quite  sure  that  the 
guard  had  not  opened  up  on  his  principal  plan. 

One  morning  Wagg  came  with  a  stool  and  a  rifle 
and  located  himself  close  beside  the  armchair;  he 
sat  on  the  stool  and  rested  the  rifle  across  his  knees 
and  smoked  a  corncob  pipe  placidly.  And  there 
was  plenty  of  opportunity  for  talk,  though  Wagg 
obtrusively  kept  his  face  turned  from  Vaniman's  and 
talked  through  the  corner  of  his  mouth. 

"Now  you  see,  I  hope!  In  a  prison  you've  got  to 
step  light  and  go  the  other  way  around  to  get  to  a 
thing.  I'm  favored  here,  and  I'm  supposed  to  be  nurs 
ing  rheumatism."  He  leaned  forward  to  knock  out 
his  pipe  dottle  and  found  an  opportunity  to  give 
Vaniman  a  wink.  "I  arranged  to  come  off  the  wall — 

213 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

knowing  all  about  your  case.  I  could  ask  to  come 
out  here,  having  found  that  night  work  didn't  help 
me!  Sunshine  is  good.  But  you  couldn't  ask  for 
sunshine.  When  a  prisoner  asks  for  a  thing,  they 
go  on  the  plan  of  doing  exactly  opposite  to  what  he 
seems  to  want.  From  now  on,  having  seen  how  I 
can  operate,  I  expect  you  to  do  just  what  I  tell  you 
to  do." 

Vaniman  looked  at  the  rifle.  Wagg  waved  it,  com 
manding  a  convict  to  hurry  past. 

"Yes,  sir!  You've  got  to  do  just  as  I  say!"  in 
sisted  the  guard  when  the  convict  had  gone  out  of 
earshot. 

"How  can  I  help  myself?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  that  I'm  going  to  team  you 
around  with  this  rifle!  I  want  you  to  co-operate." 

"Don't  you  think  I  can  co-operate  better  if  you 
give  me  a  line  on  what  all  this  means?"  pleaded  the 
prisoner. 

"Sure  and  slow  is  my  policy.  I'm  not  just  certain 
that  I  have  you  sized  up  right,  as  yet.  I'm  of  a 
suspicious  nature.  But  I'm  finding  this  sunshine 
softening."  Mr.  Wagg  rambled  on,  squinting  up  at 
the  sky.  "Seven  years  is  a  long  while  to  wait  for  a 
good  time  to  come.  Figuring  that  your  time  will  be 
paid  for  at  the  rate  of  about  ten  thousand  dollars  a 
year,  while  you're  in  here,  helps  to  smooth  the  feelings 
somewhat,  of  course.  But  now  that  you're  in  here 
you're  counting  days  instead  of  years — and  every 

214 


A  Persistent  Belief 

day  seems  a  year  when  you're  looking  forward. 
The  newspapers  said  it  was  about  seventy-fi.ve  thou 
sand  dollars  in  good,  solid  gold." 

Wagg  bored  Vaniman  with  a  side  glance  that  was 
prolonged  until  a  toiling  convict  had  passed  to  a 
safe  distance.  The  young  man  was  eying  the  guard 
with  a  demeanor  which  indicated  that  the  tractable 
spirit  commended  by  Mr.  Wagg  was  no  longer  under, 
good  control.  However,  Vaniman  did  manage  to 
control  his  tongue. 

After  the  silence  had  continued  for  some  time,  the 
guard  slipped  down  from  the  stool  and  marched  to 
and  fro  with  his  rifle  in  the  hook  of  his  arm,  affording 
a  fine  display  of  attention  to  duty. 

After  he  had  returned  to  his  stool,  Wagg  gave  the 
ex-cashier  plenty  of  time  to  take  up  the  topic. 
"Considering  my  position  in  this  place,  I  reckon 
I've  said  about  enough,"  suggested  the  guard. 

"I  think  you  have  said  enough!"  returned  Vani 
man,  grimly. 

"What  have  you  got  to  say?" 

"I  didn't  take  that  money  from  the  Egypt  Trust 
Company.  I  don't  know  where  it  is.  I  never  knew 
where  it  went.  And  I'm  getting  infernally  sick  of 
having  it  everlastingly  thrown  up  at  me." 

"I  thought  I  had  you  sized  up  better — but  I  see 
I  was  wrong,"  admitt«d  Wagg. 

"Of  course  you' re  wrong!  You  and  the  chaplain  and 
the  warden  and  the  jury!  I  didn't  take  that  money!" 
15  215 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"I  didn't  mean  I  was  wrong  on  that  point,"  pro 
ceeded  Wagg,  remorselessly.  "But  I  had  watched 
you  bang  around  your  cell  and  I  concluded  that  you 
was  ready  to  make  about  a  fifty-fifty  split  of  the 
swag  with  the  chap  who  could  get  you  out  of  here. 
If  you're  still  stuffy,  you'll  have  to  stay  that  way — 
and  stay  in  here,  too!" 

He  took  another  promenade,  pursuing  his  regular 
policy  of  starting  the  fire  and  letting  the  kettle  come 
aboil  on  its  own  hook. 

"What  good  would  it  do  me  to  escape  from  this 
prison — to  be  hounded  and  hunted  from  one  end  of 
the  world  to  the  other?"  Vaniman  demanded,  when 
Wagg  had  returned  to  the  stool.  "I  do  want  to  get 
out.  But  I  want  to  get  out  right!  I  have  a  job  to 
do  for  myself  when  I'm  out  of  here!"  Mr.  Wagg 
nodded  understandingly.  "And  that  job  is  right  in 
the  same  town  where  I  have  been  living." 

"Exactly!"  agreed  the  guard.  "And  speaking  of 
a  job,  you  don't  think  for  one  moment,  do  you,  that 
I'd  be  earning  a  fifty-fifty  split  by  boosting  you  over 
that  wall  or  smuggling  you  out  of  the  gate  to  shift 
for  yourself?  Small  wonder  that  you  got  hot, 
thinking  I  meant  it  that  way.  My  plan  will  put 
you  out  right!  My  plan  is  a  prime  plan  that  can  be 
worked  only  once.  Therefore,  it's  worth  money." 

"Damn  it,  I  haven't  the  money!"  Vaniman, 
exasperated  by  this  pertinacity,  was  not  able  to 
control  his  feelings  or  his  language. 

216 


A  Persistent  Belief 

"It's  too  bad  you  are  still  at  the  point  where  you 
think  you  haven't  got  it,"  returned  Mr.  Wagg. 
"I'm  a  terrible  good  waiter.  Reckon  I  have  showed 
that  kind  of  a  disposition  already.  When  you  get 
to  the  other  and  sensible  point  where  you  want  to 
be  out  of  here,  and  out  right,  with  nobody  chasing 
and  hectoring  you,  you  and  I  will  do  business  on  the 
fifty-fifty  basis.  It  may  seem  high,"  he  pursued. 
"But  all  prices  are  high  in  these  times.  They're  so 
blamed  high  that  I'm  in  debt,  simply  trying  to  give 
my  family  a  decent  living.  The  state  won't  raise  my 
wages.  The  state  practically  says,  'You'll  have  to 
do  the  best  you  can!'  The  state  owes  me  a  living. 
So  I'll  grab  on  to  the  assets  that  the  state  has  hove 
into  my  reach,  and  will  speculate  as  best  I  know 
how." 

"You  think  I'm  your  asset,  eh?" 

"You're  not  worth  a  cent  to  me  or  yourself  until 
I  operate.  And  when  you're  ready  to  have  me 
operate — fifty-fifty — give  me  the  high  sign.  And 
something  will  be  done  that  was  never  done  before!" 

Then  Wagg  carried  his  stool  to  the  lee  of  a  shop 
wall,  seeking  shade — too  far  away  for  further  talk. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
AND  PHARAOH'S  HEART  WAS  HARDENED 

D  Y  the  wiles  of  Wagg  and  a  soap  diet  Frank  Vani- 
^  man  had  been  able  to  secure  his  modest  slice  of 
God's  sunlight. 

There  was  aplenty  of  that  sunshine  in  Egypt.  It 
flooded  the  bare  hills  and  the  barren  valleys;  there 
were  not  trees  enough  to  trig  the  sunlight's  flood 
with  effective  barriers  of  shade. 

Tasper  Britt  walked  out  into  it  from  the  door  of 
Files's  tavern. 

He  had  just  been  talking  to  the  landlord  about  the 
tavern  diet.  His  language  was  vitriolic.  Even  Vani- 
man  could  not  have  used  more  bitter  words  to  ex 
press  his  detestation  for  soap  as  a  comestible. 

Britt's  heat  in  the  matter,  the  manner  in  which 
he  had  plunged  into  the  diatribe  all  of  a  sudden, 
astonished  Mr.  Files  tremendously.  Britt  seemed  to 
be  acting  out  a  part,  he  was  so  violent.  Usually, 
Britt  did  not  waste  any  of  the  heat  in  his  cold  nature 
unless  he  had  a  good  reason  for  the  expenditure. 
There  seemed  to  be  something  else  than  mere  dyspep 
sia  concerned,  so  Files  thought.  He  followed  Mr. 

218 


And  Pharaoh's  Heart  Was  Hardened 

Britt  and  called  to  him  from  the  door.  Britt  had 
stopped  to  light  his  cigar. 

"I've  said  my  say.  I'm  all  done  here.  Let  that 
end  it,"  declared  the  departing  guest. 

There  were  listeners,  the  usual  after-dinner  loafers 
of  the  tavern's  purlieus.  Mr.  Britt  did  not  seem  to 
mind  them.  He  even  looked  about,  as  if  to  make 
sure  of  their  numbers. 

"All  you  needed  to  do  was  to  complain  in  a  genteel 
way,  and  I  would  have  been  just  as  genteel  in  rectify 
ing,"  pleaded  Files. 

"The  people  of  this  town  are  still  saying  that  I'm 
a  hard  man.  If  that's  so,  I'm  waking  up  to  the  reason 
for  it — your  grub  has  petrified  me.  My  real  friends 
have  noticed  it."  Here  was  more  of  Britt's  un 
wonted  garrulity  about  his  private  concerns.  "  Some 
of  those  friends  have  taken  pity  on  me.  I  have  been 
invited  to  board  with  the  Harnden  family." 

Mr.  Britt  did  not  look  around  to  note  the  effect 
of  that  piece  of  news.  He  gazed  complacently  up 
into  the  sunshine. 

He  made  quite  a  figure — for  Egypt — as  he  stood 
there.  Mr.  Britt  had  "togged  out."  His  toupee, 
when  he  first  flashed  it,  had  signified  much.  But  the 
manner  in  which  he  had  garbed  himself  for  summer 
was  little  less  than  hardihood,  considering  the  sort 
of  a  community  in  which  he  lived.  He  was  "a  na 
tive."  The  style  of  his  attire  declared  that  he  was 
completely  indifferent  to  any  comments  by  his  towns- 

219 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

men — and  such  a  trait  exposed  in  a  New  England 
village  revealed  more  fully  than  his  usurious  habits 
the  real  callousness  of  the  Britt  nature.  There  was 
not  a  man  in  sight  who  did  not  have  patches  either 
fore  or  aft,  or  both!  Mr.  Britt  wore  a  light,  checked 
suit  with  a  fitted  waist,  garishly  yellow  shoes,  a  puff 
tie  of  light  blue,  and  a  sailor  straw  with  a  sash  band. 
He  was  a  peacock  in  a  yard  full  of  brown  Leghorns. 
But  nobody  laughed  at  Mr.  Britt.  Nobody  in  Egypt 
felt  like  laughing  at  anything,  any  more.  They 
were  accepting  Britt,  in  his  gorgeous  plumage,  as 
merely  another  strange  item  in  the  list  of  the 
signs  and  wonders  that  marked  the  latter  days  in 
Egypt. 

More  tawdry  than  ever  appeared  Prophet  Elias's 
robe  in  that  sunshine,  though  his  umbrella  did  seem 
to  comport  better  with  the  season.  He  stood  in 
front  of  Usial's  home.  For  a  long  time  he  had  been 
keeping  his  tongue  off  the  magnate  of  the  town. 
For  some  weeks  he  had  been  away  somewhere.  To 
those  who  indulgently  asked  where  he  had  been  he 
replied  tartly  that  he  had  volunteered  as  a  scapegoat 
for  the  woes  and  sins  of  Egypt,  had  gone  in  search 
of  a  wilderness,  and  had  come  back  because  all  other 
wildernesses  were  only  second-rate  affairs  compared 
with  the  town  from  which  he  had  started. 

The  Prophet  seemed  to  feel  that  the  appearance 
of  Mr.  Britt  required  comment.  He  raised  his  voice 
and  made  that  comment: 

220 


And  Pharaoh's  Heart  Was  Hardened 

"And  why  take  ye  thought  for  raiment?  Con 
sider  the  lilies  of  the  field,  how  they  grow;  they  toil 
not,  neither  do  they  spin:  and  yet  I  say  unto  you 
that  even  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  not  arrayed 
like  one  of  these." 

The  Prophet  bestowed  a  momentary  benefit  on 
gloomy  Egypt — the  listeners  did  manage  to  crease 
their  countenances  with  grins;  Britt  surveyed  those 
grins  before  he  turned  his  attention  to  Elias.  But 
all  he  did  turn  was  his  attention — silent,  bodeful, 
malicious  scrutiny.  The  onlookers  were  considerably 
surprised  by  Britt's  silence;  they  wondered  what 
controlled  his  tongue;  but  they  were  not  in  doubt 
on  one  point — every  man  of  them  knew  that  when 
Tasper  Britt  wore  that  expression  it  meant  that  he 
had  settled  upon  the  method  of  his  revenge  in  the 
case  of  one  who  had  offended  him. 

After  a  few  moments  Britt  turned  from  his  stare 
at  the  Prophet  and  dropped  what  was  nigh  to  being 
a  bombshell;  it  was  more  effective  because  it  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  matter  in  hand. 

"Listen,  fellow  townsmen!  We  all  know  that  we 
ought  to  put  our  shoulders  to  the  wheel  and  do 
something  for  poor  Egypt.  I  propose  to  start  off." 
He  pointed  to  the  old  Britt  mansion.  "I'm  going  to 
tear  down  my  house." 

The  men  of  Egypt  goggled  at  him. 

"Aye!  And  start  off  with  it?"  queried  the 
Prophet.  "Good  riddance!" 

221 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

But  Mr.  Britt  was  not  troubling  himself  about  the 
mouthings  of  Elias. 

"I  shall  put  a  crew  on  it  to-morrow.  A  city  con 
tractor  will  arrive  here  this  afternoon  with  equip 
ment  and  men.  But  he  can  also  use  all  the 
local  men  who  want  work.  All  who  will  pitch  in 
can  hire  with  him  at  the  regular  scale  of  wages. 
As  soon  as  the  site  is  cleared  I  shall  start  work 
on  a  new  house.  The  plans  are  drawn.  I  have 
them  here." 

He  snapped  the  rubber  bands  off  a  roll  which 
he  carried  under  his  arm.  He  exhibited  a  water- 
color  fa9ade  elevation,  stretching  his  arms  wide 
and  holding  the  paper  in  front  of  his  face.  The 
men  came  crowding  around.  They  saw  the  draw 
ing  of  a  pretentious  structure  with  towers  and 
porticoes.  Britt,  holding  the  architect's  broad 
sheet  so  that  his  features  were  hidden,  explained 
the  details  of  his  project  in  regard  to  rooms  and 
grounds.  There  was  a  hateful  expression  on  the 
hidden  face;  it  was  the  face  of  a  man  who  hoped 
he  was  stirring  jealous  envy  in  those  whom  he 
wished  to  punish. 

"It  will  be  a  mansion  to  the  queen's  taste,  when 
you  get  it  done,"  observed  one  man;  he  took  advan 
tage  of  the  fact  that  Britt  could  not  see  him  and 
winked  at  a  neighbor.  But  if  the  man  hoped  to  get 
a  rise  out  of  the  builder  in  regard  to  a  possible  queen, 
he  was  disappointed. 

222 


And  Pharaoh's  Heart  Was  Hardened 

Another  citizen  was  more  venturesome:  "I'm 
taking  it  for  granted  that  you  don't  intend  to  keep 
old-bach  hall  in  a  house  like  that,  Tasper!" 

Britt  took  down  the  shield.  He  displayed  a  coun 
tenance  of  bland  satisfaction.  "I  don't  think  I'll 
be  allowed  to  do  it,"  he  retorted,  answering  jest 
with  jest.  "You  know  what  women  are  when  they 
see  a  good-looking  house  needing  a  mistress."  He 
rolled  the  paper  up  carefully.  "And  now,  talking 
of  something  sensible,  I  hope  you're  going  to  turn 
out  in  good  numbers  when  that  contractor  begins  to 
hire.  And  pass  the  word!" 

Nobody  showed  much  enthusiasm.  One  man  with 
a  querulous  mouth  suggested:  "It  will  seem  like 
helping  waste  money,  tearing  down  a  stand  of  build 
ings  that  ain't  in  any  ways  due  to  be  scrapped;  I 
ain't  sure  but  what  it  will  seem  like  a  worse  waste 
of  money,  building  a  palace  in  a  town  like  this. 
Don't  you  expect  to  be  taxed  like  Sancho?" 

"Until  we  get  some  kind  of  legislation  or  court 
action  to  make  our  town  acts  legal,  the  taxation 
question  isn't  worrying  me  much,"  said  Britt, 
grimly.  "I'll  take  my  chances  along  with  the  rest 
of  you  on  getting  an  act  allowing  us  to  compound 
with  creditors." 

"Probably  can  be  arranged,"  said  a  man  with  the 
malice  against  the  usurer  that  prevailed  in  the  op 
pressed  town.  "We're  sending  a  good  man  to  the 
next  legislature." 

223 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

But  Britt,  in  that  new  mood  of  his,  was  refusing 
to  be  baited.  He  began  to  look  about.  "Where  is 
that  person  who  calls  himself  a  Prophet?" 

The  others  joined  with  Britt  in  making  a  survey 
of  the  landscape.  Nobody  had  been  paying  any 
attention  to  Elias,  whose  voice  had  been  stilled  since 
the  one-sided  affair  with  Britt. 

"There  he  is,"  announced  a  man. 

The  Prophet  was  patrolling.  He  was  marching 
to  and  fro  in  front  of  Britt's  house.  Then  he  walked 
in  through  a  gap  in  Britt's  fence  and  went  to  the 
house  and  peered  in  at  one  of  the  windows.  He  had 
lowered  and  folded  his  big  umbrella  and  carried  it 
under  his  arm. 

"I  call  on  all  of  you  to  note  what  he  did  then," 
cried  Britt.  "He  has  been  doing  that  lately." 

The  Prophet  returned  to  the  road.  Then  he 
seemed  to  be  attacked  by  another  idea.  He  went 
back  through  the  gap  in  the  fence  and  peered  in  at 
another  window. 

"I  repeat,  he  has  been  doing  that.  I  was  getting 
ready  to  take  proper  measures  to  handle  him. 
Something  better  than  talking  back  to  a  lunatic! 
But  I  didn't  reckon  I'd  have  such  good  luck  as  this! 
Twelve  men  right  here  for  my  witnesses!  Look  hard 
at  him,  men!" 

They  did  look,  though  they  did  not  comprehend 
what  Britt's  excited  insistence  signified.  He  pulled 
out  a  notebook  and  pencil  and  handed  it  to  the 

224 


And  Pharaoh1  s  Heart  Was  Hardened 

nearest  man.     "Mark  down  two!    Mark  it  down — 
and  all  of  you  take  due  notice." 

The  Prophet  returned  to  the  highway  and  came 
slowly  pacing  along  toward  the  group. 

"All  of  you  saw,  did  you?  All  of  you  ready  to 
bear  witness?"  demanded  the  magnate. 

He  stepped  out  in  front  of  Elias  when  the  latter 
came  near.  Britt  shook  the  roll  of  drawings  under 
the  Prophet's  nose.  "Listen  here,  my  man!  I 
didn't  bother  to  talk  to  you  a  few  minutes  ago. 
Now  I'm  talking.  You've  been  a  vagabond  in  this 
town  for  a  long  time.  The  only  thing  that  has  pro 
tected  you  from  the  law  in  such  cases  made  and  pro 
vided  has  been  the  roof  of  a  man  who  ought  to  be  a 
tramp  along  with  you.  Right  now,  before  the  eyes 
of  a  dozen  citizens,  you  have  committed  two  separate 
and  distinct  breaches  of  the  law.  You  have  tres 
passed  on  my  property.  In  the  past  I  have  sent  men 
to  jail  for  sixty  days  for  one  offense  of  that  sort. 
On  my  complaint,  backed  by  these  witnesses,  you'll 
get  sixty  days  on  one  case — and  I'll  have  you  re- 
arrested  on  the  other  count  the  moment  you  step 
foot  out  of  the  jail."  He  paused. 

"Yes?"  said  the  Prophet,  mildly  inquiring. 

"I'm  a  fair  man,  and  I  call  the  attention  of  these 
witnesses  to  what  I  say  now.  I'll  give  you  a  chance. 
Walk  out  of  this  town  and  stay  out,  and  I'll  not 
prosecute." 

The  Prophet  shook  his  head. 
225 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"Do  you  refuse  to  go?" 

For  a  man  who  dealt  so  exclusively  in  texts,  the 
Prophet  was  rather  vulgarly  blunt  when  he  replied, 
"You  bet!" 

Britt  received  that  manner  of  retort  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  had  been  tunked  between  the  eyes. 
It  was  some  moments  before  he  could  go  on.  "Don't 
you  realize  what  the  judge  will  say  when  I  show  up 
your  willfulness  ? " 

The  Prophet  was  even  more  amazing  in  his  new 
manners.  He  stuck  out  his  tongue,  put  his  thumb 
to  his  nose,  and  wriggled  his  fingers. 

"Well,  I'll  be  condemned!"  Britt  gasped. 

"Sure!    When  all  the  evidence  is  in  about  you!" 

The  magnate  of  Egypt  lowered  the  roll  that  he 
had  brandished  so  constantly.  After  a  few  moments 
of  silent  challenge  with  the  eyes,  he  turned  and 
walked  away. 

But  he  heard  the  mumble  of  men's  laughter  behind 
him,  and  his  anger  and  the  determination  not  to  be 
put  down  in  this  style  in  his  own  town  helped 
him  to  get  back  some  of  his  self-possession.  He 
whirled  on  his  heels  and  strode  to  the  enigma  of 

Egypt. 

"Who  are  you,  anyway?"  he  demanded. 

But  Prophet  Elias  was  his  usual  self  once  more. 
He  had  assumed  that  air  which  a  practical  man  like 
Britt  found  an  aggravating,  teasing  pose  or  a  kind 
of  lunacy  with  which  common  sense  could  not  cope. 

226 


And  Pharaoh9 s  Heart  Was  Hardened 

Elias  slowly  spread  his  umbrella.  He  stood  beneath 
it  and  declaimed: 

"'And  Moses  and  Aaron  did  all  these  wonders 
before  Pharaoh;  and  the  Lord  hardened  Pharaoh's 
heart,  so  that  he  would  not  let  the  children  of  Israel 
go  out  of  his  land." 

"You  let  me  tell  you  something!  There's  one  man 
going  out  of  this  land  mighty  sudden — and  he's 
going  to  the  county  jail  in  charge  of  a  constable." 

When  Britt  started  away  that  time  he  kept  on 
going.  He  went  to  the  office  of  Trial-Justice  Bowman 
and  swore  out  a  warrant.  A  constable  served  it  and 
the  Prophet  was  haled  before  the  justice.  On  the 
evidence  presented,  Bowman  sentenced  a  person 
known  as  "the  Prophet  Elias"  to  serve  sixty  days  in 
the  county  jail.  Within  an  hour  after  the  Prophet's 
defiance  he  was  on  his  way  with  the  constable  in  a 
side-bar  buggy. 

The  Prophet  had  not  opened  his  mouth  to  give  out 
even  one  text.  He  had  not  opened  his  mouth,  either, 
to  give  his  name;  the  writ  designated  him  merely 
by  his  sobriquet.  But  there  was  a  queer  little 
wrinkle  at  each  corner  of  that  closed  mouth. 


CHAPTER  XX 

NO    STRAW   FOR  THE    BRICKS 

AAR.  HARNDEN  banged  his  pulpy  fist  on  the 
^  ~  *  board  at  which,  so  he  had  declared,  Tasper 
Britt  was  to  sit. 

"I  have  ruled  a  happy  home  by  love  in  the  past. 
Don't  force  me  to  rule  it  otherwise  now." 

He  was  obliged  to  lower  his  eyes  to  a  level  at  last 
because  his  neck  ached.  He  was  forced  to  turn  those 
eyes  in  his  daughter's  direction,  for  her  gaze  was  of 
that  compelling  quality  which  causes  the  object  of 
regard  to  return  the  scrutiny. 

"I  tell  you,  I'm  not  lowering  myself  by  taking  in 
boarders,"  the  father  insisted.  "I  have  become  tied 
up  in  a  business  way  with  my  friend  Britt.  We  need 
to  be  in  conference  right  along.  They're  going  to 
tear  down  his  house.  Shall  I  let  it  be  said  that  I 
left  a  friend  ahungered  and  without  a  roof? 
Shall—" 

"Father,  I'm  no  longer  patient  enough  to  listen  to 
any  more  of  that  nonsense,"  said  Vona. 

"But  it  isn't  nonsense,"  put  in  the  mother.  "Poor 
Tasper  is  left  without  a  home.  Files's  vittles  have 

228 


No  Straw  for  the  Bricks 

nigh  killed  him.  He  was  always  used  to  home 
cooking.  He — " 

"Please!  Please!"  protested  the  girl,  impatiently. 
"We're  three  grown-ups.  Let's  be  honest  with  one 
another.  I,  at  least,  have  been  honest — ever  since 
I  declared  myself  under  this  roof  last  winter." 

"If  you're  bound  to  put  your  father's  and  your 
mother's  close  friendship  for  a  man  strictly  on  the 
business  basis,  we'll  have  it  that  way,"  agreed  Mr. 
Harnden,  trying  to  straightedge  his  little  bunghole 
of  a  mouth  and  failing. 

"Very  well,  father!  We  shall  get  along  better. 
I'm  not  in  any  position  to  dictate  in  our  home — " 

"Well,  I  should  say  not!"  exploded  the  master. 

"But  I  have  worked  and  turned  in  my  money  to 
help  support  it,  and  I  have  my  personal  rights  here." 

Mr.  Harnden  had  more  success  in  arranging  the 
expression  he  assumed  then;  he  looked  hurt;  he  had 
been  very  successful  with  that  expression  in  the  past. 
"Any  farseeing  man  has  his  ups  and  downs,  Vona. 
Is  it  kind  to  twit  your  father — " 

She  protested  more  impatiently  still.  "I  am 
simply  presenting  the  business  side  of  the  matter. 
I  say,  I  have  earned  some  rights  to  be  comfortable 
in  my  own  home.  On  the  plea  of  friendship  for  a 
man  whom  I  detest,  you  are  proposing  to  destroy 
that  comfort.  Is  your  friendship  for  that  man 
greater  than  your  love  for  your  daughter?" 

Mr.  Harnden  rose  and  stuck  out  his  frontal  con- 
229 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

vexity  and  wagged  a  forefinger.  "Now  you're 
getting  off  the  question  of  business — just  as  you 
accused  me  of  getting  off  it!"  He  slapped  his  breast. 
"I'm  a  business  man  these  days.  I'm  no  longer  a 
man  with  visions,  needing  a  daughter's  sacrifices,  like 
you  have  twitted  me  of  being.  Keep  still!  I'm  talk 
ing!"  he  squealed.  He  was  displaying  more  of  that 
new  and  cocky  demeanor  that  had  been  his  for  some 
time.  He  had  been  especially  set  up  for  a  few  days 
prior  to  his  announcement  that  Tasper  Britt  was 
coming  into  the  Harnden  home  as  lodger  and  guest 
at  table.  "Business  it  is!  Britt  will  pay  board 
enough,  seeing  that  he  has  come  to  my — my  terms, 
so  that  your  mother  can  keep  a  hired  girl  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life.  Are  you  so  selfish  as  to  want  to  have 
your  mother — my  wife — go  on  potwalloping  in  the 
kitchen  for  the  rest  of  her  days?  If  that's  so,  you'll 
find  that  my  pride  will  override  your  selfishness." 

"Father,  I  will  stay  at  home  and  do  all  the  work, 
if  you'll  keep  our  home  from  being  desecrated  by 
that  man!" 

Mr.  Harnden  reared  his  crest  and  advanced  one 
foot.  "I  have  raised  my  daughter  to  be  a  lady  and 
will  keep  her  so!  I'm  now  in  a  position  to  do  it 
without  any  of  her  help." 

Vona  stood  up  then.  But  not  to  fling  angry  retort 
at  her  father!  She  knew  that  she  was  able  to  conquer 
the  raging  self  that  was  urging  her  to  tell  both  of 
them  what  she  thought  of  their  idiotic  persistency 

230 


No  Straw  for  the  Bricks 

in  backing  the  attentions  of  Britt.  Being  victor  over 
herself  in  that  conflict  with  self  where  so  many  fail, 
she  felt  courage  to  battle  in  another  quarter.  Since 
Frank  had  been  penned  up  where  he  could  not  fight, 
she  had  felt  that  she  was  the  champion  for  their 
mutual  interests,  and  she  was  resolved  to  keep  on 
valiantly.  "Father,  you  know  how  I  stand  in  the 
matter  of  Frank  Vaniman." 

"I  have  broken  your  engagement  with  that 
jailbird." 

"Vona,  I  have  told  you  repeatedly  that  I  will 
never  consent  to  your  marrying  that  man,"  shrilled 
Mrs.  Harnden.  "What  does  the  Bible  say  about 
obeying  your  parents?" 

The  girl  was  tensely  suppressing  her  emotions. 
"The  outsiders  merely  know  that  I  am  engaged  to 
marry  him.  But  both  of  you  know  that  I  am  married 
to  him." 

Mr.  Harnden  sat  down  in  order  to  express  his 
emotions;  Mrs.  Harnden  stood  up.  Their  duet  of 
disavowal  of  any  such  knowledge  was  keyed  high. 

"You  heard  me  when  I  married  him — in  your 
presence — under  this  roof.  The  legal  formality  can 
wait.  But  I  am  married.  In  my  heart  I  am  married. 
It  is  enough  for  me  until  he  comes  back  to  me.  And 
what  God  hath  joined  together  let  not  man  put 
asunder!"  She  said  it  reverently,  with  all  her  soul 
in  her  tones,  all  her  woman's  resolution  of  loyalty 
in  her  eyes. 

16  23i 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

They  tried  to  say  something,  but  in  the  face  of  her 
demeanor  of  firmness  their  opposition  was  futile,  and 
they  probably  realized  it,  for  they  became  silent  and 
allowed  her  to  speak  on. 

"If  you  do  not  choose  to  consider  my  feelings  in 
the  matter,  I'll  not  complain.  You  are  master  and 
mistress  of  the  home.  I  tell  you  now,  as  I  have  told 
you  before,  that  if  Tasper  Britt  had  come  out  with 
the  whole  truth  Frank  would  not  be  in  prison.  You 
must  not  expect  that  I  will  sit  at  table  with  a  man 
who  has  so  persecuted  my — husband!"  She  hesi 
tated  a  moment  before  she  spoke  the  last  word.  She 
caressed  it  with  loving  inflection.  A  moment  later 
her  cheeks  were  burning  hotly.  She  went  out  into 
the  hall,  got  her  sunshade,  and  left  the  house. 

She  still  had  her  work  at  the  bank;  the  progress 
of  liquidation  was  slow.  Tasper  Britt,  from  his 
office  window,  saw  her  coming.  She  wore  no  hat. 
The  parasol  framed  the  face  that  was  still  glowing 
after  her  battle  for  the  sanctity  of  her  love. 

"It's  worth  it!"  he  muttered;  but  not  even  to 
himself  did  Britt  mention  what  the  price  was. 

Mr.  Harnden's  comment,  delayed  for  some  min 
utes,  was  that  the  girl  was  putting  it  almighty  strong. 

"It's  her  loyalty.  She  can't  help  it.  She  takes  it 
from  me,"  declared  the  mother,  pouring  another 
cup  of  tea  for  her  shaken  nerves. 

"She  dees,  hey?"  Mr.  Harnden's  tone  indicated 
that  he  was  not  commending  the  quality  mentioned. 

232 


No  Straw  for  the  Bricks 

His  wife  was  decidedly  tart  in  her  retort  that  he 
ought  to  be  thankful  for  the  loyalty  that  enabled 
her  to  put  up  with  all  the  privations  of  the  past. 

"Well,  let  the  past  be  past.  I've  got  my  feet 
placed  now — and  that  hired  girl  is  coming  to 
morrow."  The  idea  of  his  new  prosperity  revived 
Mr.  Harnden's  natural  optimism.  "That  jailbird 
hasn't  been  away  from  her  long  enough  for  her  to 
be  weaned  from  her  foolishness  about  him.  He's 
safe  away  for  seven  years,  and  a  whole  lot  can 
happen  in  that  time — even  to  that  loyalty  that 
women  seem  to  set  such  store  by.  My  friend  Britt 
comes  here — into  our  family!  That's  understood. 
If  Vona  wants  to  eat  off'm  the  mantelshelf  in  her 
room,  well  and  good  till  she's  tamed.  And  now — • 
to  work — to  work ! " 

Mr.  Harnden  was  truly  very  much  up-and-coming 
those  days.  He  rose  and  shook  out  first  one  leg  and 
then  the  other,  with  the  manner  of  a  scratching 
rooster.  The  movements  settled  the  legs  of  his 
trousers.  He  had  a  new  suit  of  his  own.  It  re 
sembled  Tasper  Britt's.  That  new  suit  and  the 
yellow  gloves  and  the  billycock  hat  excited  some 
interest  in  Egypt;  the  new  hitch  that  Harnden  pos 
sessed  excited  much  more  interest.  He  was  driving 
a  "trappy"  bay  nag,  and  his  new  road  wagon  had 
rubber  tires.  Nor  was  Mr.  Harnden  doing  any  more 
inventing,  so  he  declared  to  the  public.  The  public, 
however,  did  declare  behind  his  back  that  he  must 

233 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

have  invented  something  in  the  way  of  a  system  to 
be  able  to  wear  those  clothes  and  drive  that  hitch. 
To  be  sure,  there  were  some  who  insisted  that  the 
matter  of  Vona  was  still  potent  with  Britt  and  that 
Britt's  money  was  behind  Harnden.  But  there  were 
more  who  were  certain  that  it  was  not  the  style  of 
Britt  to  invest  in  any  such  remote  possibility  as  a 
girl  who  openly  declared  that  she  proposed  to  wait 
seven  years  for  the  man  of  her  choice. 

Harnden  had  a  new  business;  he  was  selling 
nursery  stock.  But  that  business  did  not  account 
for  his  prosperity.  He  was  taking  town  orders  for 
his  goods — taking  orders  on  the  town  treasury, 
orders  that  had  long  been  creased  in  wallets  or  had 
grown  yellow  in  bureau  drawers  or  had  been  dick 
ered  about  at  a  few  cents  on  the  dollar  and  accepted 
when  a  debtor  had  nothing  else  with  which  to  pay. 
Mr.  Harnden  said  he  was  ready  to  take  town  orders 
at  any  time.  He  optimistically  declared  that  his 
faith  in  the  old  town  was  firmly  fixed.  That  opti 
mism  was  entirely  in  accord  with  Mr.  Harnden's 
past  professions;  and  nobody  wondered  much,  be 
cause  he  was  so  foolish.  But  he  was  not  wholly  a 
fool  in  that  matter.  He  had  only  about  a  fifty-per 
cent  faith  in  Egypt — he  insisted  on  that  much  dis 
count  when  he  took  in  a  town  order.  Even  at  that 
rate,  Ossian  Orne  did  insist  that  Harnden  was  a 
complete  fool.  Orne  would  not  take  town  orders  for 
his  nursery  stock.  But  Orne's  nose  was  out  of  joint, 

234 


No  Straw  for  the  Bricks 

it  was  generally  agreed.  Harnden's  lithographs 
showed  apples  twice  as  big  as  Orne's  book  did;  the 
pears  fairly  oozed  sweetness  from  their  plump,  pic 
tured  mellowness;  there  were  peaches  that  provoked 
folks  to  make  funny  noises  at  the  corners  of  their 
mouths  when  the  optimistic  Harnden  flipped  a  page 
and  brought  the  fruit  to  view.  Nobody  had  ever 
heard  of  a  peach  tree  growing  among  the  rocks  of 
Egypt.  On  the  other  hand,  nobody  supposed  that  a 
town  order  on  the  Egypt  treasury  was  worth  any 
thing,  as  things  stood.  There  were  folks  who 
bought  peach  trees! 

And  in  the  meantime  there  was  much  clatter  in 
and  about  the  old  Britt  house,  tumble  of  timbers  and 
rip  of  wainscotings  and  snarl  of  drawing  nails.  Out 
from  the  gaping  windows  floated  the  powdery  drift 
of  the  plastering  which  the  broad  shovels  had  tackled. 
The  satirists  said  that  it  was  noticeable  that  the 
statue  of  Tasper  Britt  in  the  cemetery  had  settled 
down  heavier  on  its  heels,  as  if  making  grimly  sure 
that  Hittie  was  staying  where  she  could  not  interfere. 

In  the  meantime,  also,  Tasper  Britt  and  a  hired 
girl  had  become  fixtures  in  the  Harnden  home — and 
the  hired  girl  was  quite  in  love  with  Vona  and  in  en 
tire  sympathy  with  her  stand;  the  girl  brought  to 
Vona's  room  the  tidbits  of  all  the  meals  and  offered 
to  put  tacks  into  Britt's  doughnuts  if  that  would 
help  matters  any. 

Vona  was  entirely  serene  in  her  companionship 

235 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

with  her  father  and  her  mother.  As  for  Tasper  Britt, 
in  sitting  room  or  hall,  on  the  street  or  on  the  lawn 
of  the  Harndens,  he  was  ignored  as  completely,  yet 
sweetly,  as  if  he  were  an  innocuous  dweller  in  the 
so-called  Fourth  Dimension — to  be  seen  through — 
even  walked  through — a  mere  shade,  uninterred, 
unhonored,  and  unwarranted. 

Tasper  Britt,  relentlessly  on  the  job  of  punishing 
those  who  had  poisoned  his  pride  and  his  peace  of 
mind,  acknowledged  to  himself  that  the  attitude  of 
this  girl  was  reacting  on  him  in  the  way  of  more 
acute  punishment  than  he  was  dealing  out  to  any 
body  just  then,  except  to  Vaniman.  Through  the 
latter  the  girl  was  punished.  But  that  punishment 
had  steeled  her  to  the  stand  she  was  making  in  the 
case  of  Britt.  The  god  of  the  machine  pondered  on 
the  case  and  constantly  found  himself  in  a  more 
parlous  state  of  mind  because  he  did  ponder. 

Mr.  Harnden  tried  his  best  to  cheer  the  morose 
Britt.  Some  days  the  usurer-suitor  wanted  to  cuff 
the  optimist;  some  days  he  felt  that  he  would  go 
crazy  unless  Harnden  could  extend  some  hope,  sug 
gest  some  way  of  changing  the  girl's  attitude. 

All  the  time  Mr.  Harnden  was  very  cheerful  and 
extremely  busy;  his  nag  kicked  up  the  dust  along 
all  the  roads.  His  book  of  lithographs  was  dog's- 
eared  with  much  thumbing,  but  he  had  served  as  a 
human  vacuum  cleaner  in  sucking  up  most  of  the 
town  orders.  Mr.  Harnden  was  very  free  with  in- 

236 


No  Straw  for  the  Bricks 

formation,  customarily.  But  when  folks  asked  him 
whatever  in  the  world  he  expected  to  do  with  those 
town  orders  he  was  reticent  as  to  any  details  of 
his  plans.  He  considered  that  his  optimism  of  faith 
in  the  future  of  the  town  covered  the  matter.  He 
said  so.  He  let  it  go  at  that. 

One  day  Harnden  roamed  far  afield  and  went  to 
the  shire. 

The  next  day  he  came  back  from  the  shire. 

After  supper  he  sat  in  a  wicker  chair  on  the  lawn 
with  Tasper  Britt,  who  was  wearing  a  new  suit  of 
white  flannel  and  who  scowled  when  Vona  passed 
along  the  walk  without  even  a  glance  in  that  direc 
tion,  though  Britt  had  twitched  up  his  trousers  leg 
to  show  a  particularly  handsomely  clocked  sock. 

Mr.  Harnden  did  a  lot  of  talking  that  evening. 
Every  now  and  then,  as  if  to  fortify  his  optimistic 
courage,  he  declared,  "After  all,  business  is  business 
— and  the  trend  of  the  times  is  to  make  the  most  of 
opportunity." 

Britt  was  showing  interest  in  what  Harnden  was 
saying — interest  and  satisfaction,  too.  But  all  at 
once  that  interest  was  diverted  and  the  smooth 
satisfaction  was  wrinkled  by  a  scowl.  Britt  swore 
roundly  and  struggled  up  from  his  chair. 

Prophet  Elias  was  passing  along  the  street.  He 
flapped  his  hand  in  a  greeting  contemptuously  in 
different  and  went  on  his  way  toward  Usial's  cot. 

"Oh!  I  was  intending  to  tell  you  about  him,'* 
237 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

avowed  Mr.  Harnden,  "but  I've  had  more  important 
things  to  talk  over!" 

Britt  gave  to  this  blunderheaded  news  purveyor 
the  tail  end  of  the  malevolent  stare  that  he  had  been 
bestowing  on  the  Prophet's  back. 

"I  heard  about  it  when  I  was  over  to  the  shire 
town.  A  city  lawyer  showed  up  the  other  day  and 
deposited  cash  bonds  and  got  out  a  writ,  and  got 
Elias  out,  too,  and  the  case  has  been  appealed. 
Looks  like  the  Prophet  has  footed  it  back  here  again. 
But  I  suppose  you  can  arrest  him  on  that  other  case 
of  trespass." 

Britt  did  not  show  especial  alacrity  in  starting  any 
thing  else  in  the  case  of  the  new  arrival  in  town.  He 
sat  down.  "Who  was  the  lawyer?  Who  sent  him?" 

"Guess  he  didn't  say.  Let  the  money  do  the 
talking  for  him.  And  money  can  talk!  Now,  as  I 
was  saying,  to  get  back  to  our  regular  business,  it's 
up  to  you  to  name  the  ones  that  Dowd  will  tackle. 
Say,  where  are  you  going?" 

Britt  was  on  his  feet  and  moving  rapidly.  "Some 
where  to  do  some  thinking  away  from  that  carpet- 
loom,  shuttle-tongued,  infernal  mouth  of  yours!" 

Mr.  Harnden,  astonished  and  much  hurt,  watched 
the  usurer  till  he  tramped  into  Britt  Block. 

But  Mr.  Harnden  had  too  much  important 
business  of  his  own  on  his  mind  to  use  time  in 
wondering  how  a  Prophet  had  managed  to  get  out 
of  jail. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

BLOOD    OUT   OF   TURNIPS 

TN  the  past  Mr.  Harnden  had  regularly  referred  to 

Egypt  as  a  good  jumping-off  place;  he  empha 
sized  the  jest  by  pointing  to  the  ledge  outcroppings 
which  indicated  that  the  landscape  would  not  sag 
under  the  weight  of  the  most  energetic  jumper. 
Then  away  he  would  go! 

His  detractors  said  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
coming  home  when  affairs  were  in  such  a  bad  way 
with  him  that  he  could  not  stay  anywhere  else. 

His  wife  and  daughter  had  never  admitted  any 
thing  of  that  sort,  even  to  each  other.  They  affec 
tionately  welcomed  Mr.  Harnden  when  he  came; 
after  he  had  stoked  the  fires  of  his  faith,  and  they 
had  darned  his  socks  and  mended  his  shirts,  they 
gave  him  the  accustomed  encouraging  and  loving 
Godspeed  when  he  went  away  again  under  a  full 
head  of  optimism.  They  always  agreed  with  him, 
on  each  going-away,  that  this  was  surely  the  time 
when  Opportunity  was  waiting  outside. 

But  for  many  weeks  Opportunity  had  seemed  to 
be  camping  with  Mr.  Harnden  right  in  his  own  home 

239 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

town.  He  was  brisk,  radiant,  and  apparently 
prosperous. 

Therefore,  when  he  announced  in  the  bosom  of  his 
family  that  he  proposed  to  go  away  for  a  time,  his 
wife  and  daughter  were  frankly  astonished. 

It  was  directly  after  breakfast  on  the  morning 
following  Mr.  Harnden's  return  from  the  shire  town. 

He  did  not  display  his  usual  jocose  manner  when 
he  referred  to  Egypt  as  a  jumping-off  place.  Vona 
found  a  sort  of  furtive  uneasiness  in  the  way  he 
glanced  out  of  the  window  and  fingered  his  vest- 
pocket  equipment.  And  he  trod  to  and  fro  with  the 
air  of  a  man  stepping  on  hot  bricks. 

"But  you  have  said  you  are  doing  so  well  in  your 
new  business,  father!"  Vona's  straightforward  gaze 
was  disconcerting. 

Mr.  Harnden  kept  on  with  his  patrol.  "Con 
found  it.  IVe  got  to  get  into  town?  where  there's 
more  dirt  if  I'm  going  to  sell  any  more  nursery 
stock!" 

"Oh,  is  that  it?  But  I  happened  to  go  up  in  the 
attic  and  I  found  your  sample  books  thrown  behind 
a  trunk,  and  I  was  afraid — " 

"Afraid  of  what?"  he  demanded,  with  childish 
temper. 

"Afraid  you  were  giving  up  what  seems  to  be  a 
sure  thing.  The  other  ventures  have  been  such  un 
certainties!"  she  returned,  her  business  woman's 

composure  unaffected  by  his  reproachful  stare. 

240 


Blood  Out  of  Turnips 

"The  books  were  all  smutched  up — too  many 
dirty  ringers  afoul  of  them.  I  shall  get  new  ones — 
providing  I  stay  in  that  line."  He  was  not  con 
vincing.  "We'll  see — we'll  see!  I've  got  to  be 
moving.  These  are  busy  times  for  me." 

"But  you  don't  say  when  you're  coming  back. 
Joe!"  quavered  his  wife. 

"Why  should  I  begin  to  set  dates  now,  when  I 
never  have  in  past  times?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  it's  because  we've  got  so  used  to 
having  you  at  home,"  she  confessed. 

"I'm  leaving  matters  in  better  shape  than  I  ever 
did  before,"  said  Mr.  Harnden,  pompously.  "I 
have  been  worried  about  my  home  in  the  past  when 
I  have  had  to  be  absent  on  my  business.  We  have 
Tasper  in  the  house  now.  And  he  will  not  only 
guard  and  protect,  but  he  will  pay  as  he  goes.  I 
may  not  go  far  or  stay  long.  Just  let  it  stand  that 
way.  Tell  inquiring  friends  that.  I'll  keep  you 
posted.  You  know  what  my  business  is;  it  takes 
me  here — it  takes  me  there."  He  gave  his  wife  a 
peck  of  a  kiss  and  patted  Vona's  shoulder  when  he 
passed  her.  He  picked  up  a  valise  in  the  hallway. 

The  girl  followed  him.  "Father,  always  when  you 
have  been  away,  mother  and  I  have  felt  perfectly 
comfortable  and  safe  here  in  our  home.  If  Mr. 
Britt  hasn't  the  sense  or  the  good  taste  to  go  some 
where  else  to  board,  won't  you  suggest  to  him  that 
he'd  better  do  so?" 

241 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,  Vona!"  declared  Harnden. 
"That  contractor  has  brought  a  lot  of  strangers 
here  to  work  on  Britt's  house,  seeing  that  the  men  of 
this  town  are  biting  off  their  noses  to  spite  their 
faces!  I  wouldn't  take  a  minute's  peace,  knowing 
that  my  home  is  unprotected,  unless  I  felt  that  a 
friend  of  mine  was  here  as  guardian.  Oh,  I  know 
what  you  mean!  But  I  have  the  safety  of  my 
family  to  consider  instead  of  a  girl's  whims." 

She  did  not  argue  the  matter.  His  peppery  im 
patience  was  increasing.  This  time  he  was  not  de 
parting  with  his  customary  bland  hopefulness.  She 
knew  the  sort  of  selfishness  her  father  possessed  and 
how  he  avoided  scenes  that  troubled  his  smug  se 
renity.  But  on  this  occasion  he  seemed  to  be 
impelled  by  some  urgent  reason  outside  of  mere 
anxiety  to  be  away  from  complaining  tongues. 

He  hurried  out  of  the  house  and  went  to  the 
stable,  and  she  said  no  further  word. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  drove  away,  flinging  a  kiss 
to  his  womenfolks  from  the  finger  tips  of  the  yellow 
gloves. 

He  headed  directly  out  of  the  village  and  drove  at 
a  good  clip. 

However,  one  might  have  concluded  that  Mr. 
Harnden's  destination  was  not  as  clearly  settled  in 
his  mind  as  the  haste  of  his  departure  suggested. 
When  he  came  to  four  corners  he  pulled  up  and 
looked  to  right  and  to  left  and  to  the  straight  ahead. 

242 


Blood  Out  of  Turnips 

Mr.  Harnden  was  too  well  acquainted  with  all  the 
roads  of  Egypt  and  its  environs  to  be  confused  by 
anything  except  strictly  personal  and  peculiar 
doubts  which  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter  of 
destination.  He  looked  up  into  the  heavens,  as  if  he 
really  wished  that  he  might  be  able  to  escape  from 
Egypt  by  flight.  Then  he  did  literally  what  the 
Yankee  phrase  suggests  by  way  of  synonym  for  tak 
ing  counsel — "he  looked  between  the  horse's  ears." 
He  narrowed  his  eyes  in  meditation  and  spoke  aloud. 
"I  reckon  it's  only  general  nervousness  on  account 
of  overwork  and  women's  foolishness.  There  ain't 
one  chance  in  ten  that  they'll  get  around  to  it 
to-day." 

Arriving  at  that  comfortable  conclusion,  Mr. 
Harnden  lighted  a  cigar  and  chirruped  to  his  horse 
and  drove  straight  on. 

The  road  zigzagged  through  an  alder  swamp  for 
some  distance,  and  the  horse  footed  along  slowly 
because  a  portion  of  the  way  was  patched  with  sap 
ling  "corduroy."  And  with  the  impulse  of  a  man 
who  had  been  obliged  to  waste  time,  and  saw  an 
opportunity  to  get  on,  Harnden  whipped  up  when 
he  was  again  facing  a  smooth  road.  Therefore  he 
came  suddenly  around  the  bend  of  the  alders  into 
cleared  country  and  abreast  a  farm.  It  was  a  farm 
made  up  of  the  alluvial  soil  of  the  lowlands  and  was 
a  rather  pretentious  tract  of  tillage,  compared  with 
the  other  hillside  apologies  of  Egypt.  And  the 

243 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

buildings  were  in  fairly  good  repair.  It  was  the 
home  of  Jared  Sparks  Grant,  the  first  selectman  of 
the  town. 

Mr.  Harnden  did  not  look  to  right  or  left  as  his 
horse  trotted  past.  He  did  not  appear  to  be  in 
terested  in  the  affairs  of  Egyptians  that  day — even 
in  the  case  of  the  town's  chief  executive.  When 
Harnden  was  hailed  raucously  he  did  not  pull  up, 
though  he  heard  his  name.  After  a  few  moments  a 
gun  banged  behind  him. 

"I'm  saving  the  other  barrel,"  the  voice  an 
nounced,  after  Harnden  had  steered  his  horse  from 
the  gutter  into  the  road;  the  animal  had  been 
frightened  by  the  pattering  of  shot  in  the  foliage  of 
a  tree  overhead.  "You'll  get  it  straight,  Harnden, 
unless  you  drive  back  here!" 

When  Harnden  wheeled  the  horse  and  returned 
he  perceived  a  dooryard  group  which  he  had  affected 
not  to  see  a  few  moments  before. 

There  were  Jared  Sparks  Grant,  his  son,  his 
womenfolks,  his  hired  man;  Mr.  Harnden  recog 
nized  all  of  them,  of  course.  He  also  recognized 
Deputy-sheriff  Wagner  Dowd  from  the  shire  town. 
Dowd  had  a  couple  of  helpers  with  him.  It  was 
plain  that  the  shotgun  which  had  halted  Mr.  Harnden 
had  been  very  nigh  at  hand  and  ready  for  use;  there 
was  a  look  about  the  folks  in  the  dooryard  which 
suggested  an  armed  truce,  now  prolonged,  for  the 
handling  of  the  new  arrival. 

244 


Blood  Out  of  Turnips 

"Don't  you  realize  what's  going  on  here?"  de 
manded  Selectman  Grant,  his  weapon  in  the  hook  of 
his  arm. 

"No!"  asserted  Mr.  Harnden. 

"I  know  a  blamed  sight  better!  You  can't  look 
at  this  deputy  sheriff  without  turning  redder  than 
one  of  the  apples  in  that  fake  picture  book  of  yours. 
You  know  what  you  have  been  doing  in  this  town." 

The  selectman's  tone  was  offensively  harsh  and 
loud.  Mr.  Harnden  was  moved  to  show  a  little 
spirit,  having  been  cornered — and  feeling  protected 
by  the  presence  of  an  officer  of  the  law.  "I  have 
been  doing  business!" 

"Scooping  in  town  orders,  you  mean!" 

"Taking  them  in  the  due  course  of  my  business, 
Mr.  Selectman.  I  had  a  right  to  do  it!" 

"And  what  did  you  do  with  those  orders?" 

"I  passed  them  on — still  in  the  course  of  my 
business." 

"And  you  don't  know  into  whose  hands  they  have 
come  ? " 

"Oh  no!" 

The  selectman  stepped  close  to  the  carriage  and 
brandished  his  gun.  "While  this  town  was  staggering 
along,  trying  to  find  a  way  out,  only  a  hellion  would 
take  and  make  a  club  out  of  those  orders  and  hit  us 
the  last  and  final  clip  with  'em.  You've  done  it, 
Harnden!  For  the  sake  of  the  dirty  money  you've 
done  it.  They  were  letting  those  orders  rest  easy 

245 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

till  we  could  get  to  the  legislature  and  have  things 
put  into  some  condition  where  we'd  know  what's 
what.  Through  your  work  some  land  pirate  has 
got  hold  of  those  town  orders.  There  isn't  a  cent  in 
the  town  treasury.  You  know  it." 

He  whirled  away  from  Harnden  and  shook  the 
gun  at  the  deputy  sheriff. 

"I  sha'n't  believe  your  law,  Dowd,  till  I've  been 
and  talked  with  Squire  Hexter." 

"Go  and  talk!  But  in  the  meantime  a  good  law 
yer  has  told  me  what  to  do  and  has  given  me  the 
documents,  and  I'm  not  trying  the  case  in  your  door- 
yard.  I  have  levied  on  those  oxen  and  I  shall  take 
'em  along." 

"Do  you  hear  that,  Harnden?  That's  what  you 
have  done  to  your  town,"  bellowed  the  infuriated 
selectman.  "He  says  there's  a  law  allowing  a  creditor 
to  levy  on  the  property  of  any  citizen  of  a  town  to 
satisfy  a  judgment.  Judgment  has  been  secured 
on  those  town  orders.  They  are  jumping  on  me 
first." 

"It's  what  the  lawyer  told  me  to  do,"  insisted  the 
officer.  "Start  with  the  selectman,'  says  he.  'That 
shows  the  others  where  they  get  off.'  Grant,  I'm 
here  with  the  papers  and  the  right  to  act."  He 
advanced  close  to  the  selectman,  waggling  admoni 
tory  forefinger.  "I've  been  excusing  your  feelings. 
I  don't  blame  you!  This  is  tough.  It's  the  penalty 
you  pay  for  living  in  such  a  town.  But  I  don't 

246 


Blood  Out  of  Turnips 

propose  to  stand  for  any  more  of  that  gunplay. 
Hand  it  over!" 

Grant  hesitated.  The  officer  snatched  away  the 
gun,  broke  it  down,  and  pulled  out  the  undischarged 
shell.  He  put  that  into  his  pocket  and  shoved  the 
gun  under  the  seat  of  a  wagon.  "You  can  have  this 
gun  back  after  the  war  is  over.  Now  down  to  busi 
ness!  You  claim  that  the  oxen  are  exempt  because 
you  have  no  horses.  All  right!  I  see  you  have  a 
dozen  cows.  I'll  take  three  of  those.  I'm  fair,  you 
see!  You're  only  entitled  to  one  cow.  But  keep 
nine.  I'm  going  to  spread  the  thing  around  town 
till  I  have  enough  to  satisfy  this  judgment.  It's  for 
one  hundred  and  ninety  dollars.  What  say,  now? 
Do  you  want  to  pay  a  fine  for  obstructing  an 
officer?" 

Selectman  Grant  shook  his  head.  The  flame  of  his 
rage  had  died  down  into  sullen  rancor.  He  went 
along  to  Harnden's  carriage  and  suddenly  nipped 
that  gentleman's  nose  between  toil-calloused  index 
and  middle  fingers.  "They  tell  me  there's  no  law 
against  doing  this,"  he  said  between  his  yellow, 
hard-set  teeth,  as  he  twisted  at  the  nose,  while 
Harnden's  eyes  ran  water.  "If  there  is  a  law,  I 
hope  you'll  stay  handy  by  in  this  town  and  prosecute 
while  we're  heating  the  tar  and  getting  the  feathers 
ready." 

Sheriff  Dowd  took  advantage  of  Selectman  Grant's 
preoccupation  with  Harnden.  He  gave  off  orders  to 
17  247 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

his  helpers  and  they  lowered  the  bars  of  the  barn 
yard  and  started  away  the  cows. 

There  was  a  general  disintegration  of  the  group. 
Mrs.  Grant  led  the  lamenting  womenfolk  into  the 
house.  Mr.  Harnden  did  not  really  extricate  his 
nose;  Grant  twisted  so  violently  that  he  broke  his 
own  grip,  and  his  victim  laced  the  whip  under  the 
horse's  belly  and  escaped. 

Within  ten  minutes  Selectman  Grant  was  whipping 
his  own  horse  in  a  direction  opposite  to  that  which 
Harnden  had  taken.  Mr.  Grant  was  hot  after  law. 

Squire  Hexter  gave  him  the  law,  and  cold  comfort. 

"They  can  do  it,  Jared.  Outsiders  can  get  hold 
of  unpaid  town  orders  and  put  on  the  screws  if  they're 
that  heartless.  It  isn't  done  once  in  a  dog's  age. 
But,  as  I  say,  it  can  be  done  when  a  creditor  is  ugly 
enough.  Harnden  didn't  say,  did  he,  just  who 
bought  the  orders?" 

"I  wouldn't  have  believed  him  if  he  did  say! 
But  he  didn't  say." 

"And  you  don't  know  the  man  who  secured 
judgment?" 

"Never  heard  of  him." 

"I  will  try  to  trace  the  matter,  Jared.  No,  keep 
your  wallet  in  your  pocket.  There's  no  charge. 
It's  a  case  where  the  interests  of  the  citizens  in  general 
are  concerned.  I'm  the  regularly  elected  town 
agent,  as  you  know!"  The  Squire  smiled.  "I'll 
take  a  town  order  for  my  pay."  He  looked  out  of 

248 


Blood  Out  of  Turnips 

the  window.  "It's  about  time  for  somebody  else  to 
come  larruping  up  here  after  law!  Don't  hurry, 
Jared!  Wait  and  hear  what's  happened  to  the 
neighbors!" 

The  selectman  sat  gloomily,  elbows  squared  on  his 
knees,  and  waited.  Almost  opposite  the  Squire's 
office  the  rattle-te-bang  business  on  Britt's  premises 
was  going  on. 

"I  wonder  whether  Tasper  will  dare  to  go  ahead 
and  build  his  palace  after  he  hears  the  latest  news," 
suggested  the  Squire.  "You  must  be  told,  Jared, 
that  after  the  live  stock  of  the  town  has  been  thinned 
down  to  the  essentials  permitted  by  law,  then  the 
farms  and  general  real  estate  can  be  levied  on." 

Grant  lifted  his  haggard  face  and  stared  at  the 
Squire.  "Then,  outside  of  the  cook  stove  and  my 
clothes,  I  don't  know  \vhether  I'm  worth  a  blasted 
cent,  hey?  They  can  dreen  me  slow  with  a  gimlet, 
or  let  it  out  all  at  once  with  a  pod  auger,  can  they? 
That's  what  the  law  can  do  to  me,  you  say!  What 
can  it  do  for  me,  Squire  Hexter?" 

"Well,  Jared,  they'll  take  your  cows  over  to  the 
shire  and  auction  them  off  for  what  they'll  bring. 
You  can  sue  this  town  and  recover  the  real  value  of 
the  cows,  along  with  interest  at  twelve  per  cent. 
That  is  to  say,  you  can  get  judgment  against  the 
town  for  that  amount." 

"And  then  I  can  go  over  to  my  neighbor's,  eh,  and 
grab  away  any  loose  property  I  can  find  of  his?" 

249 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"You  can  do  it!" 

"Look  here,  Squire,  that  makes  it  nothing  except 
a  game  of  'tag,  you're  it,'  and  a  case  of  'I've  got  my 
fingers  crossed'!  The  whole  of  us  running  around  in 
circles,  and  the  lawyers  picking  up  all  the  loose 
change  we  drop  from  our  pockets.  Where  do  we 
wind  up?" 

The  Squire  shook  his  head  slowly  and  reached 
down  and  stroked  one  of  Eli's  ears.  "Eli  was  telling 
me  that  old  Jones  thought  he  had  invented  perpetual 
motion  when  he  tied  a  piece  of  liver  to  a  pup's  tail 
and  set  the  pup  to  revolving;  but  the  pup  wore  out." 

Grant  sat  for  some  minutes  and  harkened  to  the 
bang  of  the  hammers  across  the  way.  "I  don't 
understand  how  a  farseeing  man  like  Tasp  Britt 
dares  to  build  a  good  house  here,"  he  growled. 

"Oh,  the  pup  may  be  worn  out  by  the  time  it  is 
finished — or  those  towers  may  mean  that  he  intends 
to  list  it  as  a  meetinghouse  and  have  it  exempted 
from  taxation,  Jared.  We  shall  see!" 

But  whatever  it  was  that  the  selectman  saw,  as 
he  sat  there  and  stared  at  the  wall  of  Squire  Hexter's 
office,  it  evidently  was  not  serving  in  the  way  of 
comfort. 

The  Squire's  prediction  about  other  seekers  for 
law  was  fulfilled  before  long.  The  deputy  sheriff 
had  proceeded  on  his  travels.  The  afflicted  parties 
came  up  the  Squire's  stairs.  Arden  Young  reported 
that  three  of  his  best  cows  were  driven  away.  George 

250 


Blood  Out  of  Turnips 

Jordan  and  his  cousin  J.  0.  Jordan  each  surrendered 
two  faithful  moolies.  It  was  plain  that  Sheriff  Dowd 
proposed  to  make  sure  that  there  was  auction  ma 
terial  enough  to  yield  one  hundred  and  ninety  dollars, 
along  with  the  costs. 

"Jared,"  suggested  the  notary,  "you'd  better 
have  an  accounting  and  find  out  how  many  of  those 
town  orders  were  issued  when  the  reckless  spirit 
was  on.  Somebody  has  decided  to  milk  the  old  town. 
It  is  being  done  scientifically,  seeing  that  this  first 
mess  is  so  modest.  But  we  need  to  know  about  how 
many  messes  we're  expected  to  give  down." 

Inside  of  a  fortnight  there  were  two  more  milkings. 

At  about  that  time  Tasper  Britt  started  pro 
ceedings  to  foreclose  a  couple  of  mortgages.  The 
debtors  despondently  declared  that  they  would  not 
attempt  to  redeem  the  property;  they  told  Britt 
that  he  could  have  it  for  what  he  could  get  out  of  it. 
The  usurer  tried  to  show  disinclination  to  take  over 
real  estate  in  Egypt,  but  he  did  not  make  a  very  good 
job  of  the  pretense.  He  had  the  air  of  a  man  who  ex 
pected  to  be  obliged  to  tussle  for  something,  but  had 
had  the  something  dropped  into  his  grasp  when  he 
merely  touched  the  holder's  knuckles. 

Britt  had  a  map  of  the  town  in  his  office  desk.  He 
began  to  color  sections  with  a  red  crayon.  According 
to  Mr.  Britt's  best  judgment  in  the  matter,  he  was 
in  a  fine  way  to  own  a  whole  town — a  barony  six 
miles  square — at  an  extremely  reasonable  figure. 

251 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

From  the  selectman  down,  nobody  seemed  to  feel 
that  Egypt  property  was  worth  anything.  As  to 
beginning  suits  against  the  town,  nobody  felt  like 
paying  lawyers'  fees  and  piling  up  costs.  It  was  like 
tilting  against  a  fog  bank.  And  in  a  veritable  fog 
bank  of  doubt  and  despair  the  unhappy  Egyptians 
wandered  around  and  around. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  TAUT   STRING   SNAPS 

CRANK  VANIMAN'S  mother  was  allowed  to  visit 
•*•  him  once  a  month  at  the  prison.  She  was  not 
present  at  his  trial.  She  had  respected  his  earnest 
wishes  in  that  matter. 

When  she  came  to  him  she  smiled — she  did  not 
weep.  When  she  smiled  he  wanted  to  weep.  He 
realized  how  much  that  display  of  calm  courage  was 
costing  Martha  Vaniman.  He  remembered  how 
bravely  and  steadfastly  she  had  brought  that  same 
heroine's  quality  to  the  support  of  his  father  when 
she  had  taken  Frank  with  her  to  the  prison;  they 
used  to  walk  in  through  the  gloomy  portal  hand  in 
hand,  and,  though  her  face  was  serene,  her  throbbing 
ringers  told  him  what  her  heart  was  saying  to  her. 

Her  husband  had  thankfully  accepted  that  little 
fiction  of  her  fortitude;  her  son,  under  like  circum 
stances,  did  the  same.  Between  mother  and  son,  as 
between  husband  and  wife,  was  the  bond  of  an  im 
plicit  faith  in  the  innocence  of  the  accused.  Love 
was  not  shamed,  no  matter  how  the  outside  world 
might  view  the  matter. 

253 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

The  prison  warden  was  a  fat  man,  full  of  sym 
pathy.  He  gave  the  mother  and  son  the  privileges 
of  his  office,  and  to  those  reassuring  surroundings 
the  mother  brought  Frank's  sister  on  one  of  the 
regular  visits. 

After  Mr.  Wagg's  guile  gave  Vaniman  his  outdoor 
job,  the  mother  brought  Anna  each  month,  for  the 
school  vacation  season  was  on.  The  sun  was  bright 
out  there  in  the  yard.  One  could  look  up  into  the 
fleecy  clouds,  over  the  walls,  and  forget  the  bars  and 
the  armed  guards. 

In  fact,  one  day,  Anna's  ingenuous  forgetfulness 
of  the  true  situation  provoked  real  merriment  for 
the  little  party — Guard  Wagg  included.  Anna  sur 
veyed  apprehensively  several  particularly  villainous- 
looking  barrowmen  who  passed  and  expressed  the 
devout  hope  that  Frank  always  saw  to  it  carefully 
that  he  locked  his  bedroom  door  nights. 

Before  all  the  zest  of  that  joke  had  evaporated, 
Mrs.  Vaniman  departed;  it  was  a  part  of  her  help 
ful  tact  in  alleviating  the  grievous  situation  in 
which  Frank  was  placed.  She  always  came  with 
the  best  little  piece  of  news  she  could  provide  for 
the  meeting;  for  the  parting  she  reserved  a  bit  of  a 
joke. 

Mr.  Wagg  chuckled  for  a  long  time  after  the  visit 
ors  went  away.  Gradually  his  face  became  serious. 
"Of  course,  I  have  to  sit  here  and  listen  to  what's 
said,  because  that's  my  duty.  But,  as  I  have  told 

254 


The  Taut  String  Snaps 

you  before,  all  family  matters  simply  pass  into  one 
ear  and  out  of  the  other." 

"I'm  mighty  grateful  for  the  way  you  have  treated 
us,"  said  Vaniman. 

"The  fact  that  we  haven't  done  business  as  yet 
hasn't  changed  me — never  will  change  me.  That 
mother  of  yours  is  so  fine  a  woman  that  she  deserves 
every  favor  that  I  can  grant  her,  for  her  own  sake. 
And,  she  being  so  fine  a  woman,  I  was  sorry  to  hear 
what  you  wormed  out  of  her  this  day — that  she  has 
gone  back  to  work  in  a  store  again." 

"It  was  the  one  big  happiness  in  my  life  in  Egypt, 
Mr.  Wagg,  to  feel  that  at  last  my  mother  was  having 
the  little  rest  and  comfort  that  she  deserved.  I 
used  to  look  ahead  to  the  time  when  I  could  give 
her  what  I  was  able  to  give  her  while  I  was  at  work. 
I  had  a  dreadful  struggle  with  her,  getting  her  to 
leave  her  work.  The  only  way  I  ever  did  get  around 
her  was  to  complain  that  she  was  spoiling  my 
prettiest  dream  by  staying  in  the  store.  And  now 
it's  all  to  do  over  again.  I  haven't  even  the  realiza 
tion  of  the  dream  to  help  me  here." 

"It's  tough — realizing  what  you  could  do  if  you 
had  the  chance,  and  not  being  able  to  do  it," 
averred  Mr.  Wagg.  He  lighted  his  pipe  and  slid 
off  his  stool.  "A  woman  earning  her  living  these 
days  has  to  do  a  terrible  lot  of  hard  work  in  seven 
years." 

And  having,  after  his  usual  custom,  lighted  a  fire 

255 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

under  the  kettle,  Mr.  Wagg  went  to  a  distance  and 
allowed  the  contents  to  boil. 

The  contents  did  boil  that  day,  when  Vaniman 
had  an  opportunity  to  do  some  concentrated 
thinking. 

That  morning  he  had  received  his  weekly  letter 
from  Vona.  She  confessed  to  him  that  for  some 
weeks  she  had  refrained  from  telling  him  that  Tasper 
Britt  was  a  member  of  the  household.  She  explained 
under  what  circumstances  Britt  was  there  and  what 
her  attitude  was  and  would  continue  to  be.  She  had 
not  written  anything  about  the  matter,  she  said,  on 
account  of  her  anxiety  to  keep  petty  troubles  and 
worries  away  from  one  who  was  suffering  from  such 
cruel  injustice.  But  now  that  her  father  had  gone 
away  for  an  indefinite  stay,  leaving  Britt  as  general 
guardian,  she  wrote  to  Vaniman  to  anticipate  any 
rumors  which  might  reach  the  young  man  from 
another  quarter. 

She  did  not  state  that  this  intrusion  by  Britt  into 
her  home  was  perpetual  persecution  where  she  was 
concerned;  Vaniman  felt  that  she  did  not  need  to 
say  so.  His  imagination  pictured  the  situation. 
He  had  become  morbid.  He  admitted  it,  but  he 
could  not  help  himself.  He  had  done  his  best  to 
keep  his  judgments  sane  and  his  hopes  untarnished. 
But  he  was  judging  Britt  by  what  Britt  had  already 
done,  and  he  was  in  a  mood  to  believe  that  Britt 
would  be  able  to  go  ahead  and  accomplish  a  lot  more 

256 


The  Taut  String  Snaps 

in  the  way  of  hideous  deviltry.  The  thought  of 
Britt  in  that  house — a  girl  there  with  no  other 
protection  than  the  presence  of  a  silly  mother — 
made  for  agony  of  apprehension  that  was  excruci 
ating. 

One  of  his  most  precious  dreams  had  just  melted 
into  drab  reality — his  mother  was  compelled  to  go 
back  to  her  toil. 

His  other  dream — the  one  that  was  consoling  him 
through  the  dreary  wait  of  seven  years  behind  bars 
— was  threatened  by  the  malevolence  of  a  man  who 
was  showing  himself  to  be  a  veritable  fiend  in  his 
machinations. 

Vaniman  put  some  questions  to  himself.  Who  on 
God's  green  earth  had  a  more  imperious  call  to  be 
out — to  be  free  to  fight  for  himself  and  the  innocent? 
Would  not  a  lie  be  holy  if  it  should  open  prison  doors 
and  allow  a  guiltless  man  to  go  forth  and  battle 
with  the  guilty?  Did  not  the  end  justify  all  the 
means?  The  state  had  declared  that  his  liberty 
must  be  forfeited.  Had  the  state  the  right  to  take 
away  his  reason  ?  Vaniman  told  himself  that  he  was 
on  the  straight  road  to  lunacy. 

He  leaped  up,  in  the  frenzy  of  his  determination 
forgetting  that  there  were  preliminaries  yet  to  be 
attended  to. 

"Sit  down  there,  Convict  Two-Seven-Nine,  or 
I'll  bore  ye!"  bawled  Guard  Wagg,  with  a  mighty 
volume  of  tone.  A  deputy  warden  was  crossing  the 

257 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

yard.     He  flourished  a  commendatory  salute  to  the 
vigilant  warder. 

"Good  stuff,  Bart!    Always  on  your  job,  eh?" 

"Always!"  agreed  Mr.  Wagg. 

The  warden  went  on  his  way  and  the  guard 
marched  to  the  convict  with  a  manner  which  ex 
pressed  a  determination  to  give  No.  279  an  earful. 
He  stood  over  Vaniman,  who  had  dropped  back  in 
the  chair,  and  the  two  of  them  swapped  stares. 

"I  want  to  get  out — I  want  to  get  out!"  whimpered 
Vaniman. 

Mr.  Wagg  nodded. 

"What  must  I  do?" 

"Whack  up  with  me — fifty-fifty.  Haven't  I  to.ld 
you  times  enough?" 

"But,  I  mean,  what  must  I  do  to  help?"" 

"I  don't  need  any  of  your  help.  I  only  want  you 
to  say  that  you'll  lead  me  to  that  money." 

Vaniman  drew  a  deep  breath.  "I  will  lead  you 
to  that  money." 

"Some  men  would  make  you  swear  that  you 
know  just  where  the  coin  is,"  proceeded  Wagg. 
"But  I'm  playing  my  own  hunch  in  this  thing  on  that 
point.  Furthermore,  I  have  talked  with  a  chap 
named  Bixby."  He  looked  hard  at  the  ex-cashier. 
"Bixby  tied  your  little  game  into  knots,  didn't  he?" 

Vaniman  admitted  that  fact  by  a  rueful  sag  of  his 
chin. 

"Confidence — mutual  confidence  in  each  other!" 
258 


The  Taut  String  Snaps 

Mr.  Wagg  walked  away.  When  he  came  back  past 
Vaniman,  patrolling,  he  snapped:'  "No  more  talk! 
No  more  need  of  talk.  Never  can  tell  when  talk 
may  trip  us.  From  now  on,  sit  tight!" 

After  that,  though  days  passed,  Wagg  had  not 
one  word  for  the  amelioration  of  the  convict's  im 
patience.  Then,  one  day,  Wagg  changed  his  job 
again.  Vaniman  was  kept  at  the  same  work,  if  work 
it  could  be  called.  He  caught  glimpses  of  Wagg. 
The  guard  was  busy  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  big 
pit.  He  had  two  or  three  convict  helpers.  They 
began  to  operate  drills  in  the  side  of  a  rocky  hillock 
which  towered  considerably  above  the  level  of  the  yard. 

News  circulates  inside  prison  walls  despite  the 
inhibition  on  communications  between  the  inmates. 
Vaniman  got  information  piecemeal  from  convicts 
who  stopped  near  him  on  the  pretense  of  spitting 
on  their  hands  to  get  a  new  grip  on  their  barrow 
handles.  He  learned  that  the  plan  was  to  mine  the 
hillock  and  rig  a  blast  that  would  tip  it  into  the  pit 
for  filling.  The  barrow  work  was  proving  too  slow 
an  operation  and  the  prison  commissioners  wanted 
the  outside  men  put  back  into  the  shops  where  they 
could  earn  money  for  the  state. 

It  was  evident  that  Guard  Wagg  was  having  a 
great  deal  of  trouble  with  his  helpers.  He  was  con 
tinually  bawling  them  out  with  a  violence  whose 
volume  reached  the  ears  of  Vaniman. 

One  day  Wagg  perceived  the  warden  inspecting 

259 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

the  work  from  the  edge  of  the  pit  near  Vaniman; 
the  guard  came  trotting  around. 

"Warden,  I'm  an  expert  on  quarry  work,  as  you 
know,"  he  panted.  "I'm  doing  my  best  to  show 
you  that  I  haven't  forgotten  what  I  learned  over  at 
Stoneport,  and  to  back  up  what  I  promised  y,ou  and 
the  commissioners  after  I  gave  you  the  tip  as  to 
what  could  be  done  with  that  hill.  Much  obliged 
to  you  for  allowing  me  all  the  dynamite  I  need.  But, 
demmit!  I  haven't  got  anybody  with  brains  to  help 
me  handle  it.  It's  notional  stuff,  sir.  It  hates  a 
blasted  fool."  He  pointed  his  finger  at  the  men 
across  the  pit.  Their  striped  suits  suggested  the 
nomenclature  he  used.  "Those  potato  bugs  will  do 
something  to  blow  us  to  blazes  sure  'n  there's  air  in 
a  doughnut  hole!" 

The  warden  showed  his  concern.  "Don't  you 
know  of  some  man  who  is  used  to  dynamite?" 

"That  ain't  it,  sir.  A  fool  gets  used  to  it,  till  he's 
too  cussed  familiar.  I  want  a  man  with  brains 
enough  to  be  polite  to  it." 

The  warden,  making  a  general  survey  of  the  scene, 
beheld  Vaniman.  "A  man  who  knows  enough  to 
be  a  bank  cashier  ought  to  have  brains,  Wagg. 
How  about  Number  Two-Seven-Nine?" 

Mr.  Wagg  contemplated  Vaniman  and  took 
plenty  of  time  for  thought  "I'll  try  him,"  he  said, 
without  enthusiasm.  "I  hadn't  thought  of  him — 
but  I'll  try  him." 

260 


The  Taut  String  Snaps 

Directed  to  do  so  by  the  warden,  Vaniman  went 
to  his  new  work  with  Wagg.  The  latter  exhibited 
no  especial  symptoms  of  satisfaction  at  securing  such 
a  helper.  He  told  the  young  man  that  his  particular 
care  would  be  the  dynamite — to  handle  the  boxes, 
store  them  in  the  little  shed,  unpack  the  sticks,  and 
follow  the  drills,  planting  the  rendrock  ready  for  the 
blast  that  was  to  topple  the  hillock  into  the  pit. 
Mr.  Wagg  explained  to  the  warden,  after  a  time, 
that  the  dynamite  could  be  planted  more  safely  and 
to  better  advantage  when  the  drillers  were  off  the 
job.  Therefore,  Vaniman  was  detailed  to  help 
during  the  noon  hour  while  the  prisoners  were  at 
dinner. 

But,  even  when  they  were  alone  together,  day 
after  day,  Mr.  Wagg  maintained  his  reticence.  Once 
in  a  while  he  did  wink  at  Vaniman.  The  winks  grew 
more  frequent  when  Mr.  Wagg  began  to  connect  up 
the  dynamite  pockets  in  the  hill  with  wires.  One 
afternoon,  near  knocking-off  time,  he  stepped  into  the 
shed  where  Vaniman  was  covering  up  his  boxes  for 
the  night.  "When  you  leave  your  cell  in  the  morn 
ing,"  said  the  man  who  had  promised  freedom,  "hide 
in  your  pockets  all  the  letters  and  little  chickle- 
fixings  you  intend  to  carry  away  with  you.  You 
won't  be  going  back  into  that  cell  again,  Number 
Two-Seven-Nine." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

NO   VOICE    FROM   THE    PIT 

TT  was  a  night  of  wakefulness  and  of  tremors  for 
•*•  Vaniman.  His  was  the  acute  expectancy  of  one 
who  was  about  to  set  out  on  strange  adventures, 
but  whose  orders  were  sealed  and  whose  destination 
was  unknown.  Wagg's  stolid  appearance  of  knowing 
just  what  he  was  about  had  been  a  steadying  aid  in 
helping  the  young  man  control  his  doubts;  in  issuing 
his  final,  curt  commands  Wagg  did  not  abate  his 
confidence;  Vaniman  felt  that  he  was  in  no  position 
to  demand  more  candor. 

He  forced  himself  to  eat  his  breakfast  when  it  was 
pushed  under  his  cell  door.  The  messes  that  were 
daily  dabbed  into  the  compartments  of  the  tin  tray 
were  never  appetizing;  that  morning  his  emotions 
made  everything  as  tasteless  as  sawdust.  But  he 
ate  for  strength's  sake;  he  did  not  know  what  form 
of  endurance  would  be  demanded  of  him. 

He  put  only  a  few  of  his  letters  into  his  pocket. 
Cells  were  inspected  every  day  after  the  convicts 
went  forth  to  their  toil.  He  did  not  dare  to  excite 

262 


No  Voice  From  the  Pit 

suspicion  by  taking  away  any  noticeable  amount  of 
his  possessions. 

The  forenoon  work  went  on  as  usual.  And  Mr. 
Wagg  gave  no  signs  that  this  was  the  day  of  days 
according  to  his  plans.  He  constantly  warned  the 
convicts  not  to  meddle  with  any  of  the  wires.  He 
was  even  peremptorily  short  with  a  deputy  warden 
who  came  poking  around.  The  warden  asked  if 
there  was  any  danger. 

"There's  always  danger  when  a  hill  is  full  of 
wired-up,  canned  thunder,"  stated  Mr.  Wagg.  "I 
maintain,  as  I  always  have  maintained,  that  it's 
notional  stuff.  You'll  kindly  remember  that  I  told 
you  so." 

The  warden  departed  with  an  air  that  revealed 
how  much  he  had  been  impressed. 

With  the  crisis  so  near,  irritability  pricked  Vani- 
man's  state  of  nervous  tension.  He  began  to  resent 
Wagg's  contemptuous  silence  in  regard  to  details. 
That  the  guard's  plans  were  concerned  in  some  way 
with  the  mined  hillock  was  evident  enough.  But  an 
explosion  which  merely  would  create  a  diversion  to 
assist  in  an  escape  was  not  a  device  that  would 
effectively  solve  his  difficulties,  Vaniman  reflected. 
Wagg's  general  stolidity  made  him  seem  rather 
stupid;  the  young  man  felt  that  his  own  wits  ought 
to  be  enlisted  in  the  affair.  In  the  stress  of  circum 
stances  he  hankered  to  co-operate  instead  of  being  a 
sort  of  Ludlam's  dog,  dumb  and  driven. 
18  263 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

However,  toward  noon,  Mr.  Wagg  was  displaying 
a  certain  amount  of  tension  of  his  own  and  his  de 
meanor  did  not  invite  complaints  or  recrimination. 
The  convict  decided  that  there  was  nothing  for  it 
except  to  let  Mr.  Wagg  do  the  wagging. 

When  the  noon  bell  clanged  from  the  tower,  the 
pit-job  prisoners  filtered  into  groups  from  their  occu 
pation  in  the  yard  and  others  filed  from  the  doors  of 
the  shops.  They  shufHed  their  way  in  double  lines 
through  the  gaping  door  of  the  main  building,  re 
ceived  their  tins  of  food,  and  went  to  their  cells. 

As  usual,  Vaniman  remained  with  Wagg. 

The  warders  on  the  walls  relaxed  their  vigilance 
when  the  heavy  door  was  closed  behind  the  last  men 
of  the  lines.  The  guards  went  into  the  sentry  boxes 
and  set  down  the  heavy  rifles. 

Wagg  made  a  general  survey  of  the  scene.  No 
person  was  moving  in  the  open  area  of  the  yard. 
The  veteran  of  the  guard  was  well  acquainted  with 
the  customary  habits  and  movements  of  the  noon 
hour.  He  knew  that  the  men  in  the  main  guardroom 
were  reduced  to  a  shift  of  two  while  the  others  went 
to  their  dinners;  the  two  men  were  in  the  habit  of 
giving  the  deserted  yard  only  indifferent  attention. 
But  Mr.  Wagg  had  provided  against  even  casual 
glances. 

For  purposes  of  his  own,  which  a  boss  did  not 
need  to  explain,  he  had  nailed  boards  together  to 
form  something  like  a  door,  six  feet  square.  The 

264 


No  Voice  From  the  Pit 

thing  had  been  leaning  against  the  dynamite  shed 
for  some  days. 

Quite  casually,  Mr.  Wagg  went  and  lifted  away 
this  square  of  boarding,  holding  to  the  transverse 
braces  on  which  the  boards  were  nailed.  He  trudged 
along,  carrying  it,  and  came  to  where  Vaniman  was 
standing,  observing  and  wondering. 

"Scooch!"  snapped  Wagg.  "Walk  along.  Don't 
show  yourself  past  this  shield!" 

It  was  a  true  shield.  Wagg  carried  it  straight  up 
and  down.  Vaniman  obeyed  instantly.  He  had  a 
mental  flash  that  Wagg  did  know  exactly  what  he 
was  about  in  his  tactics.  Lacking  all  idea  of  the 
scheme,  Vaniman  had  not  the  heart  to  begin  to  ask 
for  any  details  of  the  big  plan  at  that  crucial  moment. 
He  allowed  himself  to  be  an  automaton.  It  was 
easy  to  do  one  thing  at  a  time,  as  Wagg  commanded; 
knowing  nothing  about  what  Wagg  intended  to  do, 
Vaniman  was  not  in  a  position  to  delay  matters  by 
doubts  as  to  the  best  way  of  doing  the  thing.  He 
walked  behind  the  board  screen,  conscious  that  his 
movements  were  hidden  from  the  men  in  the  guard 
room  and,  for  that  matter,  from  the  eyes  of  anybody 
in  the  prison  building. 

After  a  walk  of  a  few  rods  Vaniman  found  himself 
close  to  a  big  chimney;  it  served  a  shop  which  had 
been  unused  since  the  crew  had  been  at  work  on  the 
job  of  filling  the  pit.  Wagg  set  down  the  shield  on 
its  edge,  as  if  needing  to  rest  for  a  moment. 

265 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"Open  that  chimney  door  and  dodge  in.  Pull  the 
door  to  behind  you." 

At  the  base  of  the  chimney  Vaniman  beheld  the 
iron  door  provided  for  the  convenience  of  cleaners 
and  repair  men.  The  padlock  of  the  door  was  un 
hooked.  He  lifted  the  door  from  its  latch,  crawled 
into  the  chimney,  and  pulled  the  door  shut.  A  mo 
ment  later,  waiting  in  the  stifling  darkness,  he  heard 
the  rattle  of  metal  against  metal  and  the  snap  of  the 
padlock.  There  was  the  tramp  of  departing  feet. 
Gradually  he  became  able  to  see  about  him  in  some 
degree.  Away  up  above  him  was  a  square  of  sunlit 
sky  at  the  top  of  the  shaft.  He  saw  in  one  corner  a 
large  pail  with  a  cover;  beside  it  were  several 
bottles.  He  found  that  the  pail  contained  food  and 
there  was  water  in  the  bottles.  Also,  there  was  a 
bundle  of  clothing. 

Judging  from  the  amount  of  food,  it  was  rather 
evident  that  Mr.  Wagg  expected  prison-bird  Two- 
Seven-Nine  to  play  chimney  swallow  for  some  little 
time! 

Wagg  had  made  a  quick  job  of  locking  in  Vaniman. 
The  guard  tipped  the  upper  edge  of  the  shield  in 
ward  till  it  rested  against  the  chimney.  He  reached 
around  the  end  of  the  boarding  and  snapped  the  pad 
lock.  Then  he  lifted  his  burden  and  went  on. 

About  that  time  a  lazy  man  in  the  guardroom 
rolled  slow  gaze  upon  the  yard.  He  saw  Wagg 
moving  with  the  burden  and  watched  until  Wagg 

266 


No  Voice  From  the  Pit 

laid  it  down  flat  on  the  ground.  He  opined  that  it 
was  a  part  of  the  bomb-proof  shelter  that  Wagg  pro 
posed  to  build  in  order  to  watch  the  hillock-smashing 
at  close  range.  The  other  guard  confirmed  that 
opinion,  having  information  straight  from  Wagg, 
himself. 

"When  does  she  bust?" 

"Next  week,  so  he  cal'lates!" 

But  Mr.  Wagg,  returning  slowly,  keeping  to  the 
side  of  the  pit  farthest  from  the  hillock,  was  at 
that  moment  down  to  seconds  in  his  figuring  how 
long  it  would  be  before  the  crawling  fire  on  a  fuse 
would  reach  and  sever  a  cord  and  trip  a  certain 
trigger. 

"I  reckon  she's  about  due,"  muttered  Mr.  Wagg. 
He  stopped  within  easy  jumping  distance  of  the 
corner  of  a  shop  and  slowly  lighted  his  pipe  as  an 
excuse  for  stopping. 

His  reckoning  was  correct. 

The  hillock  heaved.  The  mining  had  been  skill 
fully  done;  the  mass  of  rocks  and  earth  was  hoisted 
from  behind  and  slid  toward  the  pit.  There  was  a 
tremor  of  the  ground  under  the  prison  and  its  yard 
as  if  Thor  had  thunked  viciously  with  his  heaviest 
hammer.  When  startled  men  shot  glances  from  the 
windows  that  were  handiest  for  observation,  the 
hill  was  toppling  into  the  pit.  In  the  forefront  was 
the  dynamite  shed,  splintering  under  the  tons  of 
moving  rock.  Instantly  the  last  sliver  of  the  shed 

267 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

was  swallowed  up,  and  then  other  tons  of  dirt  and 
rock  went  piling  into  the  pit,  burying  the  shattered 
structure  in  crashing  depths  from  which  lime-rock 
dust  came  puffing  in  clouds. 

On  the  edge  of  the  pit  a  man  was  dancing  wildly 
in  an  aura  of  dust.  The  man  was  Wagg.  He  came 
staggering  away  from  the  pit,  his  arms  folded  across 
his  eyes. 

"I  saw  him!"  he  squalled,  when  officers  met  him 
in  their  race  across  the  yard  from  the  prison.  "He 
was  in  the  shed.  I  told  him  to  keep  away  from  them 
wires.  I've  been  telling  everybody  to  keep  ofFm 
them  wires.  But  everybody  has  been  bound  and  de 
termined  to  fool  with  'em."  He  pulled  down  his 
arms  and  shot  accusatory  digit  at  the  deputy  warden 
whom  he  had  previously  rebuked.  "Only  this  day 
I  had  to  warn  you  not  to  fool  with  them  wires.  He 
must  have  done  it.  I  saw  him  go  under.  It's  Gawd- 
awful!  I'll  never  forget  it — how  he  looked.  Gimme 
water!" 

He  sucked  from  the  edge  of  the  tin  dipper  which 
a  man  brought,  suffling  like  a  thirsty  horse.  He 
rolled  up  his  eyes  and  surveyed  the  warden,  who  had 
arrived. 

"Number  Two  -  Seven  -  Nine  —  you  say  he  has 
gone?"  The  warden's  countenance  registered  honest 
horror;  but  Mr.  Wagg's  simulated  horror  was  even 
more  convincing  in  its  intensity. 

"He's  gone!  He's  under  the  whole  of  it!"  Wagg 
268 


No  Voice  From  the  Pit 

dropped  the  dipper  and  collapsed  on  the  ground. 
"My  nerve  is  all  busted,  Warden.  I  sha'n't  ever 
have  any  more  grit  to  be  a  guard.  I  ask  to  be  dis 
charged.  Here  and  now  I  beg  to  be  fired!" 

"I'll  arrange  a  furlough  for  you,  Wagg,"  said  the 
warden,  with  understanding  sympathy.  "You're 
entitled  to  a  lay-off  with  pay.  It  was  a  terrible 
thing  to  see!'* 

"And  his  mother!"  mourned  the  guard.  "Break 
it  to  her  easy!" 

"A  dreadful — dreadful  affair,"  insisted  the  warden. 

He  started  toward  the  edge  of  the  pit.  "And  the 
prison  commissioners,  the  way  state  finances  are, 
will  never  go  to  the  expense  of  having  all  that  rock 
moved  to  dig  him  out." 

"Probably  not,  seeing  that  he's  under  the  whole 
of  it,"  agreed  Wagg.  "He  was  a  likable  chap,  spite 
of  what  he  had  done  to  get  in  here.  Poor  Two- 
Seven-Nine!" 

One  of  the  inside  guards  had  arrived  at  the  scene 
of  mourning.  He  was  greatly  excited.  "And  I  guess 
it's  poor  Two-Eight-Two!  He's  missing  from  the 
noon  count-up,  Mr.  Warden!" 

Wagg  struggled  upon  his  feet.  He  was  not  simu 
lating  the  new  phase  of  his  emotions.  He  looked 
distinctly  frightened.  "There's  only  one  under 
there.  I  saw  him  go.  Who  is  Two-Eight-Two?" 

"One  of  the  pair  sent  down  from  Levant  for 
breaking  and  entering  in  the  nighttime." 

269 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"He  wasn't  in  my  crew — he  wasn't  on  outdoor 
work,"  shouted  Wagg. 

"What  was  his  job?"  demanded  the  warden. 

"Harness  shop,"  reported  an  officer.  He  called 
to  another  guard  and  started  into  the  building 
indicated. 

All  those  in  the  yard  waited  anxiously,  their  eyes 
on  the  door  where  the  guards  had  entered.  Promptly 
the  officers  came  out.  One  propelled  a  convict, 
clutching  the  collar  of  the  dingy  prison  coat;  the 
other  carried  a  length  of  narrow  ladder  that  was 
fashioned  from  strips  of  leather.  "I  reckon  he  hid 
out  to  work  on  this,"  said  the  guard. 

"Didn't  you  know  that  you  couldn't  get  away 
with  anything  of  that  sort?"  the  warden  demanded, 
angrily. 

The  convict  looked  past  the  warden,  straight  into 
the  eyes  of  Wagg.  "You  never  can  tell  what  you 
can  get  away  with  till  you  try  it,"  Two-Eight-Two 
declared.  There  was  a  touch  of  insolence  in  his 
manner. 

"Into  the  doghole  with  him!"  the  warden  com 
manded. 

Wagg  surveyed  the  departure  of  the  convict. 
The  man  contrived  to  twist  his  head  around  and  look 
behind  him;  and  he  disclosed  a  grin.  But  he  was 
hampered  by  the  clutch  on  his  collar  and  Wagg  was 
not  sure  that  the  grin  was  intended  for  him,  though 
the  consciousness  that  the  convict  might  have  beheld 

270 


No  Voice  From  the  Pit 

what  was  on  the  inner  side  of  that  shield  of  boards 
was  a  thought  which  troubled  Mr.  Wagg's  com 
placent  belief  that  a  good  job  had  been  well  done. 

He  continued  to  watch  the  man  until  the  narrow 
door  which  opened  from  the  yard,  admitting  to  the 
doghole  cells,  swallowed  up  the  convict  and  his 
guard.  All  that  time  a  sort  of  quivery  feeling  was 
inside  Wagg.  He  actually  found  himself  in  frantic 
mental  search  of  some  kind  of  a  lie  to  be  used  in  case 
the  convict  whirled  and  pointed  at  the  big  chimney 
and  got  over  an  accusation.  But  the  man  did  not 
look  around  again. 

"I  can  plainly  see  that  you  are  in  a  bad  way, 
Wagg,"  affirmed  the  warden.  Fervently  did  Mr. 
Wagg  agree  in  his  heart.  "Your  leave  of  absence 
dates  from  this  moment,  if  you  say  so." 

"I  may  have  to  go  on  to  stone  work  again  if  I  don't 
get  back  my  grit,  warden.  I'd  like  to  have  the  run 
of  the  yard  for  a  day  or  so,  in  order  to  look  over  just 
how  that  blast  worked.  Seeing  that  it  cost  a  human 
life,  I'd  like  to  get  full  value  of  experience  out  of  it." 

"Come  and  go  as  you  like,  Wagg.  I'll  lend  you  a 
key  to  the  small  door  beside  the  wagon  entrance  in 
case  you  don't  want  to  ring  in  through  the  guard 
room." 

Mr.  Wagg  expressed  his  gratitude  in  proper  terms 
and  allowed  that  he  would  go  and  lie  down  for  a 
time  in  order  to  calm  himself.  Again  he  urged  the 
warden  to  break  the  news  gently  to  Vaniman's 

271 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

mother  and  respectfully  requested  that  Guard 
Wagg's  sympathy  be  included  in  the  condolence  in 
the  official  letter. 

The  newspapers  of  that  afternoon  contained  an 
account  of  the  tragic  happening  at  the  state  prison. 

And  all  that  night  Martha  Vaniman  sat,  dry-eyed, 
and  tried  to  find  words  to  comfort  a  girl  who  sobbed 
in  her  arms. 

That  night,  too,  Vona  Harnden  kept  vigil,  her 
door  locked  against  her  mother,  whose  fatuous 
commonplaces  of  commiseration  were  like  files 
against  the  raw  surface  of  the  girl's  agony. 

The  front  parlor  of  the  Harndens  had  been  con 
verted  into  a  sleeping  room  for  Tasper  Britt.  Vona's 
room  was  over  the  parlor.  She  could  hear  the  rasping 
diapason  of  his  snoring.  He  appeared  to  be  sleeping 
with  the  calm  relaxation  of  a  man  who  had  been 
able  to  eliminate  some  especial  worries  from  his 
mind. 

Furthermore,  that  night,  the  chairman  of  the 
prison  commissioners  had  a  talk  with  the  warden 
over  the  telephone.  The  warden  made  a  guess  as  to 
how  many  thousands  of  tons  of  rock  were  piled  above 
the  body  of  the  unfortunate  victim. 

"The  taxpayers  will  never  indorse  the  project  of 
digging  out  that  pit  to  recover  the  body  of  a  con 
vict,  no  matter  who  he  is,"  declared  the  commis 
sioner.  "I  don't  mean  to  sound  brutal,  but  we  must 
let  it  stand  as  it  is.  Enter  the  reports  of  witnesses 

272 


No  Voice  From  the  Pit 

and  declare  the  man  officially  dead.  Here  is  one 
case,  at  least,  Mr.  Warden,  when  there's  no  doubt 
about  a  man  being  dead.'* 

However,  shortly  after  twelve  o'clock  that  night 
— and  the  night  being  particularly  black  with  an 
overcast  sky — Bartley  Wagg  opened  the  iron  door 
of  the  big  chimney  and  called  forth  Frank  Vaniman 
and  led  him  out  through  the  little  door  at  the  side 
of  the  carriage  entrance. 

There  was  a  conveyance  waiting  there,  a  good- 
sized  van,  drawn  by  a  solid-looking  horse.  Mr. 
Wagg  lifted  the  flap  of  the  van's  cover. 

"Crawl  in!"  he  commanded.  "You'll  find  plenty 
of  room  along  with  the  rest  of  the  camping  kit.  Roll 
yourself  up  in  the  tent  and  take  it  easy.  My  nerves 
have  been  shocked  by  a  terrible  affair  and  I'm  going 
into  the  mountains  to  recooperate.  Doctor's  orders ! " 
He  was  grimly  serious. 

He  mounted  the  seat  of  the  van  and  drove  away 
with  his  passenger  and  the  outfit. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE    SHADE   WHO   STALLED 

AA  R.  WAGG  did  not  hurry.  He  used  several  days 
^  "  *•  for  his  trip  to  Egypt.  He  drove  leisurely  along 
roads  which  led  through  small  towns  and  out-of-the- 
way  places.  That  plan  afforded  him  opportunity 
and  excuse  for  pitching  a  tent  to  serve  as  shelter 
during  the  night  stops.  And  after  the  tent  was 
pitched  and  the  dusk  had  descended,  Vaniman  was 
able  to  come  thankfully  from  the  hateful  restraint 
of  the  van  and  stroll  along  woodland  aisles  and  get 
the  kinks  out  of  his  anatomy. 

But,  although  he  eased  his  body,  he  was  unable  to 
ease  his  mind.  He  had  not  expected  to  enjoy  his 
questionable  freedom,  anyway.  Liberty  was  of 
value  to  him  only  as  he  might  be  able  to  use  it  in  his 
fight  for  his  rights  as  an  innocent  man.  He  could 
not  freely  use  his  liberty  until  he  had  cleared  his 
name  and  thereby  justified  his  escape  from  the 
prison.  Now  he  was  wondering  whether  he  would 
have  allowed  Wagg  to  proceed  as  he  did  had  the 
guard  apprised  him  of  the  full  details  of  the  plan. 
The  sweat  of  anguish  stood  out  on  him  as  he  pon- 

274 


The  Shade  Who  Stalled 

dered  in  the  jolting  van;  he  found  no  pleasure  in  the 
respite  of  the  peaceful  woods. 

By  the  plot  of  Wagg  he  had  dealt  his  loved  ones 
the  cruel  blow  that  sudden  death  inflicts  on  the 
affections.  In  spite  of  what  he  hoped  to  gain  from 
his  freedom,  Vaniman  was  accusing  himself,  realizing 
what  his  mother,  his  sister,  and  Vona  were  suffering. 
It  was  his  nature  to  draw  fine  distinctions  in  points 
of  honor;  he  was  ashamed  in  the  presence  of  Wagg; 
and  in  the  consideration  of  the  interests  of  self,  he 
felt  that  his  liberty  was  exacting  too  great  a  price 
from  others.  To  all  intents  and  purposes,  outside 
the  knowledge  of  one  man  to  the  contrary,  he  was 
dead,  and  he  had  deprived  his  best  beloved  of  hope 
and  peace  of  mind.  The  one  man  in  the  secret  pro 
fanely  declared  that  if  Vaniman  made  an  attempt 
to  communicate  with  any  person  in  the  world  until 
their  particular  business  had  been  settled,  the  whole 
project  was  in  danger.  "I  don't  care  how  much  de 
pendence  you  put  in  your  mother's  good  sense. 
She's  a  woman,  and  women  slop  over  when  they're 
all  wowed  up !  She'd  have  to  tell  your  sister,  wouldn't 
she?  She  couldn't  let  your  sister  go  on  suffering. 
And  your  sister's  too  young  to  be  trusted.  Vani 
man,  the  toughest  part  is  over  for  'em.  That's  a 
cinch!  They'll  go  on  sorrowing,  of  course,  but  they'll 
be  feeling  more  reconciled  every  day.  Mourners 
always  do.  Mourners  can't  help  seeing  the  bright 
side,  after  a  time.  Think  of  that  and  quit  your 

275 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

foolishness.  You  have  made  a  trade  with  me.  Till 
your  part  of  that  trade  is  carried  out  you  ain't 
a  free  agent  to  do  what  you  want  to  do  in  your  own 
affairs." 

The  worry  over  his  inability  to  carry  out  that  trade 
was  mingled  with  the  young  man's  general  bitterness 
of  regret  because  he  had  challenged  Fate  so  boldly. 

"There's  one  thing  about  it,"  Mr.  Wagg  pursued, 
"the  quicker  you  come  across  with  me  the  sooner 
you  can  do  what  you  darnation  want  to  on  your  own 
hook.  I  have  worked  a  thing  that  could  be  worked 
only  once.  You're  out — and  you're  out  right.  No 
body  is  chasing  you.  Take  another  name,  show  up 
in  some  other  part  of  the  country,  and  you'll  live 
happy  ever  after." 

He  dwelt  on  that  theme  whenever  the  two  talked, 
and  he  played  all  the  variations.  Furthermore,  he 
complained  because  Vaniman  was  not  showing  his 
gratitude  in  more  hearty  fashion.  "I  catch  you 
looking  at  me  like  a  youngster  would  look  at  a  bum 
blebee  crawling  across  his  bare  foot.  I  don't  ask  to 
be  taken  into  your  bosom  as  your  main  and  particular 
chum — understand  that!  But  while  there's  business 
on  between  us  I  expect  pleasant  looks,  even  if  you 
don't  feel  like  handing  me  conversation." 

Mr.  Wagg  was  doing  practically  all  the  talking  on 
that  trip.  He  had  emerged  from  his  cocoon  of 
taciturnity.  He  explained  that  naturally  he  was  a 
great  talker,  but  that  prison  rules  had  pretty  nigh 

276 


The  Shade  Who  Stalled 

paralyzed  his  tongue  and  he  was  trying  to  get  it 
back  into  good  working  order  once  more. 

He  made  an  especial  point  of  vaunting  himself 
upon  the  success  of  his  scheme  of  deliverance.  He 
tackled  the  thing  from  all  angles.  He  played  it  up 
as  the  greatest  achievement  that  ever  had  been 
worked  in  behalf  of  a  convict.  Mr.  Wagg,  serving 
as  board  of  appraisal  of  his  own  feat,  kept  boosting 
the  value.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  suspecting 
that  Vaniman,  out  and  free,  was  in  the  mood  that  is 
characteristic  of  the  common  run  of  humanity: 
urgent  desire  is  reckless  about  price;  possession  pro 
ceeds  to  haggle  and  demur. 

"And  there's  one  thing  about  it,"  insisted  Wagg, 
"we've  got  to  keep  on  going  ahead.  We  can't  back 
up.  We  can't  dissolve  partnership.  And  the  trade 
has  got  to  stand  as  it  was  made — fifty-fifty." 

"I'm  not  going  back  on  the  trade." 

They  were  sitting  close  to  each  other  on  a  tussock 
behind  their  little  tent.  Mr.  Wagg  leaned  close  and 
bored  Vaniman  with  earnest  gaze.  "We'll  fetch 
Egypt  on  to-morrow's  hitch.  Of  course,  you're  going 
to  stick  close  to  me,  and  you  can  bet  that  I'm  going 
to  stick  close  to  you  till  the  whack-up  has  been 
made.  No  shenanigan!  Now,  seeing  how  far  I  have 
gone  in  doing  my  part,  don't  you  think  it's  about 
time  for  you  to  come  across?" 

Vaniman  spread  his  hands.  "How  can  I?  Wait 
till  we  get  to  Egypt."  Right  then  he  had  no  notion 

277 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

of  what  he  was  going  to  do  when  he  arrived  in  Egypt. 
He  had  not  dared  to  look  the  proposition  squarely  in 
the  face.  He  did  not  even  analyze  his  feelings.  He 
was  dimly  conscious  that  he  was  pitying  Wagg. 
That  ambitious  person  was  in  for  a  grievous  disap 
pointment.  To  be  sure,  Wagg  had  insisted  on  fol 
lowing  a  current  belief  and  persisted  in  building  his 
hopes  on  a  fallacy  and  had  forced  human  nature 
until  weak  human  nature  had  snapped  under  the 
strain.  Wagg  had  refused  to  believe  the  truth;  he 
had  preferred  to  indulge  his  own  delusion  in  regard 
to  the  treasure  of  the  Egypt  Trust  Company. 
Nevertheless,  Vaniman  was  ashamed — and  he  was 
afraid. 

Britt  was  the  crux  of  the  situation — that  was  evi 
dent  enough!  Britt  knew  where  the  coin  was. 
Vaniman  was  sure  on  that  point.  Britt  had  so  ma 
neuvered  that  wild-goose  errand  to  Levant  that  he 
had  made  the  affair  furnish  opportunity  to  himself 
and  fix  the  odium  on  Vaniman.  In  spite  of  what  the 
young  man  knew  of  Britt's  lust  for  money,  he  be 
lieved  that  the  usurer  had  worked  a  scheme  to  ruin 
a  rival  instead  of  merely  operating  to  add  to  his 
riches.  But  Vaniman  knew  Britt  well  enough  to 
reach  the  conclusion  that,  once  having  the  hard  cash 
in  his  possession,  and  the  blame  fastened  on  another 
man,  Britt  was  allowing  avarice  to  stand  pat  on  the 
play. 

But  if,  now  being  on  the  job  in  person,  he  could 
278 


The  Shade  Who  Stalled 

rig  a  scheme  to  make  Britt  disclose,  what  could  be 
done  for  coadjutor  Wagg?  There  was  a  reward 
posted  for  information  leading  to  the  recovery  of  the 
money.  Britt  had  offered  that  reward.  He  had 
made  quite  a  show  of  the  thing  in  the  public  prints. 
He  pledged  himself  to  pay  the  sum  of  two  thousand 
five  hundred  dollars  from  his  own  pocket,  and  Vani- 
man  bitterly  realized  just  why  Britt  had  adopted 
that  pose.  Would  Wagg  be  content  with  the  sop  of 
the  reward? 

The  man  who  had  been  declared  dead  knew  that 
he  must  play  for  time.  He  ran  over  various  plans 
in  his  head.  He  did  not  feel  like  blurting  out  the 
truth  to  Mr.  Wagg  and  asking  what  that  effectually 
compromised  gentleman  was  going  to  do  about  it. 
He  needed  Mr.  Wagg.  He  thought  of  pleading  that 
the  summer  landscape  was  so  much  different  from  the 
winter  lay  of  the  land,  when  the  snow  was  heaped 
in  the  gullies  and  on  the  hills,  that  he  was  bothered 
in  remembering  just  where  he  had  planted  the 
treasure  that  night;  he  reflected  that  he  might  show 
Mr.  Wagg  a  hole  in  the  rocks  and  assert  that  some  of 
the  persistent  Egyptian  gold  hunters  had  un 
doubtedly  located  the  money  and  taken  it  for  them 
selves;  being  moved  to  more  desperate  projects,  he 
meditated  on  the  plan  of  coming  across  to  Wagg 
with  the  whole  story,  showing  him  that  Britt  must 
be  guilty,  and  thereby  turning  a  blackmailer  loose 
on  the  magnate  with  plenty  of  material  to  use  in 
19  279 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

extorting  what  Wagg  might  consider  fair  pay  for  the 
work  he  had  put  in. 

But  Vaniman  was  freshly  free  from  prison  walls. 
Just  then  he  was  psychologically  incapable  of 
standing  up  for  himself  as  a  real  man  ought.  His 
sense  of  innocence  had  not  been  able  to  withstand 
that  feeling  of  intimidation  with  which  a  prisoner 
becomes  obsessed.  Right  along  with  him  was  the 
man  who  had  been  persistently  his  guard  in  the 
prison.  Wagg's  narrow  rut  of  occupation  had  had 
its  full  effect  on  his  nature.  His  striated  eyeballs 
had  a  vitreous  look;  they  were  as  hard  as  marbles. 
Vaniman  knew  that  he  could  not  look  at  those  eyes 
and  tell  a  convincing  lie.  In  view  of  Wagg's  settled 
convictions  in  the  matter  of  the  treasure,  the  real 
truth  might  be  harder  to  support  than  a  lie. 

Vaniman  went  into  the  van  like  a  whipped  dog 
into  a  kennel  and  lay  awake  and  wrestled  with  his 
difficulties. 

During  the  progress  of  the  pilgrimage  the  next  day 
Wagg  halted  frequently.  Vaniman  could  hear  the 
conversations  between  his  charioteer  and  the  natives 
of  the  section.  Mr.  Wagg  was  seeking  information 
and  at  the  same  time  he  gave  out  a  modest  amount 
of  revelation  about  himself  and  his  need  of  a  retired 
spot  where  he  might  "recooperate."  He  explained 
that  he  wanted  to  find  a  camp  in  some  place  so  re 
mote  that  nobody  would  be  coming  around  jarring 
his  nerves. 

280 


The  Shade  Who  Stalled 

Eventually  he  got  on  track  of  what  he  wanted.  A 
native  told  him  about  an  abandoned  log  house  on 
the  top  of  a  mountain  called  "Devilbrow." 

"They  used  it  for  a  fire-warden  station  in  the  days 
when  Egypt  had  enough  timber  to  make  it  an  object 
to  protect  it,"  said  the  man.  "You'll  be  plenty  lone 
some  up  there.  You  can  get  your  wagon  within  half 
a  mile.  Pack  your  truck  on  your  hoss's  back  and  lead 
him  the  rest  of  the  way.  That's  what  I  used  to  do. 
I  was  warden  till  I  found  myself  trying  to  carry  on 
conversations  with  tumblebugs  and  whippoorwills." 

When  Wagg  had  driven  along  far  enough  so  that 
the  native  could  not  overhear,  he  hailed  Vaniman 
through  the  trap  in  the  top  of  the  van. 

"Did  you  hear  that?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  that  Devilbrow  within  grabbing  distance  of 
what  we're  after?" 

Vaniman  returned  a  hearty  affirmative.  He  had 
been  able  to  see  those  craggy  heights  from  his  window 
in  Britt  Block.  The  thought  that  what  he  wanted 
to  grab  and  what  Mr.  Wagg  wanted  to  grab  were 
not  exactly  mated  as  desired  objects  did  not  shade 
his  candor  when  he  asserted  that  Devilbrow  was 
just  the  place  from  which  to  operate. 

"All  right!"  chirruped  Wagg.  "Us  for  it!"  He 
displayed  the  first  cheeriness  he  had  shown  on  the 
trip.  He  whistled  for  a  time.  Then  he  sang,  over 
and  over,  to  a  tune  of  his  own,  "Up  above  the  world 

281 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

so  high,  like  a  di'mond  in  the  sky."  This  display  of 
Wagg's  hopeful  belief  that  the  fifty-fifty  settlement 
was  near  at  hand  served  to  increase  Vaniman's 
despondency. 

Obeying  the  native's  instructions  as  to  the  route, 
Wagg  soon  turned  off  the  highway  and  drove  along 
a  rutted  lane  which  whiplashed  a  slope  that  con 
tinually  became  steeper.  Soon  he  pulled  up  and  told 
Vaniman  to  get  out  and  walk  and  ease  the  load  on 
the  horse.  Wagg  got  down  and  walked,  too. 

The  trail  up  Devilbrow  was  on  the  side  away 
from  the  village  of  Egypt.  The  way  was  through 
hard  growth.  There  were  no  houses — no  sign  of  a 
human  being.  Wagg's  cheerfulness  increased.  And 
he  said  something  which  put  a  glimmer  of  cheer 
into  Vaniman's  dark  ponderings. 

"There's  no  call  to  hurry  the  thing  overmuch.    If 

recooperate  too  sudden  and  show  up  back  home 
it  might  look  funny,  after  the  way  I  bellowed  about 
my  condition.  There's  plenty  of  flour,  bacon,  and 
canned  stuff  in  that  van.  I  reckon  we'd  better  get 
our  feet  well  settled  here  and  make  sure  that  nobody 
is  watching  us;  the  money  is  safer  in  the  hole  than 
with  us,  for  the  time  being.  My  pay  is  going  on 
and  the  future  looks  rosy." 

A  cock  partridge  rose  from  the  side  of  the  lane  and 
whirred  away  through  the  beech  leaves  that  the  first 
frost  of  early  autumn  had  yellowed. 

"And  I've  got  a  shotgun  and  plenty  of  shells! 

282 


The  Shade  Who  Stalled 

Son,  let's  forget  that  we  have  ever  been  in  state 
prison.  In  the  course  of  time  that  place  is  about  as 
wearing  on  a  guard  as  it  is  on  a  convict." 

The  log  camp  was  behind  a  spur  of  the  rocky 
summit  and  was  hidden  from  the  village  below. 
Wagg  commented  with  satisfaction  on  the  location 
when  they  had  reached  the  place.  The  van  had  been 
concealed  in  a  ravine  which  led  from  the  lane. 
The  wrork  of  loading  the  horse  with  the  sacked  sup 
plies,  and  the  ascent  of  the  mountain,  had  consumed 
hours.  Twilight  was  sifting  into  the  valleys  by  the 
time  they  had  unloaded  the  stuff  and  stabled  the 
horse  in  a  lean-to. 

There  was  a  stove  in  the  camp,  and  the  place  was 
furnished  after  a  fashion  with  chairs  and  a  table 
fashioned  from  birch  saplings.  The  blankets  of 
Wagg's  camp  equipment  made  the  bunks  com 
fortable. 

Wagg  had  been  the  cook  as  well  as  the  captain  of 
the  expedition.  He  did  better  that  evening  with  the 
wood-burning  stove  than  he  had  done  with  the  oil 
stove  of  his  kit. 

After  supper,  before  he  turned  in,  Vaniman  went 
out  on  a  spur  of  Devilbrow  and  gazed  down  on 
the  scattered  lights  of  the  village  of  Egypt.  As  best 
he  could  he  determined  the  location  of  the  Harnden 
home.  He  felt  as  helplessly  aloof  as  if  he  were  a 
shade  revisiting  the  scene  of  his  mortal  experiences. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE    FIRST   PEEP    BEHIND   THE    CURTAIN 

PHE  next  day  Wagg  went  out  and  shot  two 
partridges  and  contrived  a  stew  which  fully 
occupied  his  attention  in  the  making  and  the  eating. 
He  had  suggested  to  Vaniman  that  he'd  better  come 
along  on  the  expedition  after  the  birds.  Vaniman 
found  a  bit  more  than  mere  suggestion  in  Wagg's 
manner  of  invitation.  With  his  shotgun  in  the  hook 
of  his  arm  he  presented  his  wonted  appearance  as 
the  guard  at  the  prison.  It  was  perfectly  apparent 
that  Mr.  Wagg  proposed  to  keep  his  eye  on  the 
promiser  of  the  fifty-fifty  split.  But  Wagg  did  not 
refer  to  the  matter  of  the  money  while  they  strolled 
in  the  woods. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  days  went  by  without  the 
question  coming  up. 

Wagg  had  previously  praised  himself  as  a  patient 
waiter;  the  young  man  confessed  in  his  thoughts 
that  his  guardian  merited  the  commendation.  Wagg 
was  plainly  having  a  particularly  good  time  on  this 
outing.  He  displayed  the  contentment  of  a  man  who 
had  ceased  to  worry  about  the  future;  he  was  taking 

284 


The  First  Peep  Behind  the  Curtain 

it  easy,  like  a  vacationer  with  plenty  of  money  in  the 
bank.  On  one  occasion  he  did  mention  the  money  in 
the  course  of  a  bit  of  philosophizing  on  the  situation: 

"I  suppose  that,  when  you  look  at  it  straight, 
it's  stealing,  what  I'm  doing.  I've  seen  a  lot  of  big 
gents  pass  through  that  state  prison,  serving  sen 
tences  for  stealing.  Embezzlement,  forgery,  crooked 
stock  dealing — it's  all  stealing.  They  were  tempted. 
I've  been  tempted.  I've  fell.  I  ain't  an  angel,  any 
more  than  those  big  gents  were.  And  you  know 
what  I  told  you  about  mourners  chirking  up,  after 
the  first  blow!  I  figure  it's  the  same  way  in  the  bank 
case.  They  have  given  up  the  idea  of  getting  the 
money  back.  They're  still  sad  when  they  think 
about  it,  but  they  keep  thinking  less  and  less  every 
day.  They've  crossed  it  off,  as  you  might  say." 

The  two  who  were  bound  in  that  peculiar  comrade 
ship  were  out  on  the  crag  where  they  could  look 
down  upon  the  distant  checker  board  of  the  village. 
Vaniman,  in  the  stress  of  the  circumstances,  won 
dered  whether  he  might  be  able  to  come  at  Wagg 
on  the  sentimental  side  of  his  nature. 

"The  little  town  must  have  gone  completely  broke 
since  the  bank  failure.  Innocent  people  are  suffering. 
If  that  money  could  be  returned — " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  Mr.  Wagg  was 
most  distinctly  not  encouraging  that  line  of  talk. 

"Look  here,  Vaniman,  when  you  got  away  with 
that  money  you  had  hardened  yourself  up  to  the 

285 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

point  where  you  were  thinking  of  your  own  self 
first,  hadn't  you?" 

The  young  man  did  not  dare  to  burst  out  with  the 
truth — not  while  Wagg  was  in  the  mood  his  expres 
sion  hinted  at. 

Wagg  continued:  "Well,  I've  got  myself  to  the 
point  where  I'm  thinking  of  my  own  self.  I'm  as 
hard  as  this  rock  I'm  sitting  on."  In  his  emphasis 
on  that  assertion  Wagg  scarred  his  knuckles  against 
the  ledge.  "After  all  the  work  I've  had  in  getting 
myself  to  that  point,  I'm  proposing  to  stay  there. 
If  you  try  to  soften  me  I  shall  consider  that  you're 
welching  on  your  trade." 

Wagg  made  the  declaration  in  loud  tones.  After 
all  his  years  of  soft-shoeing  and  repression  in  a  prison, 
the  veteran  guard  was  taking  full  advantage  of  the 
wide  expanses  of  the  big  outdoors. 

"What  did  I  do  for  you,  Vaniman?  I  let  you  cash 
in  on  a  play  that  I  had  planned  ever  since  the  first 
barrow  of  dirt  was  dumped  into  that  pit.  There's 
a  lifer  in  that  prison  with  rich  relatives.  I  reckon 
they  would  have  come  across  with  at  least  ten  thou 
sand  dollars.  There's  a  manslaughter  chap  who 
owns  four  big  apartment  houses.  But  I  picked  you 
because  I  could  sympathize  with  you  on  account  of 
your  mother  and  that  girl  the  papers  said  so  much 
about.  It's  a  job  that  can't  be  done  over  again,  not 
even  for  the  Apostle  Peter.  Now  will  you  even  hint 

at  welching?" 

286 


The  First  Peep  Behind  the  Curtain 

" Certainly  not!" 

But  that  affirmation  did  not  come  from  Vaniman. 
It  was  made  in  his  behalf  by  a  duet  of  voices,  bass 
and  nasal  tenor,  speaking  loudly  and  confidently 
behind  the  two  men  who  were  sitting  on  the  ledge. 

The  younger  man  leaped  to  his  feet  and  whirled; 
the  older  man  struggled  partly  upright  and  ground 
his  knees  on  the  ledge  when  he  turned  to  inspect  the 
terrifying  source  of  sound. 

So  far  as  Vaniman's  recollection  went,  they  were 
strangers.  One  was  short  and  dumpy,  the  other  was 
tall  and  thin.  They  wore  slouchy,  wrinkled,  cheap 
suits.  There  was  no  hint  of  threat  in  their  faces. 
On  the  contrary,  both  of  the  men  displayed  expres 
sions  of  mingled  triumph  and  mischief.  Then,  as  if 
they  had  a  mutual  understanding  in  the  matter  of 
procedure,  they  went  through  a  sort  of  drill.  They 
stuck  their  right  arms  straight  out;  they  crooked 
the  arms  at  the  elbows;  they  drove  their  hands  at 
their  hip  pockets  and  produced,  each  of  them,  a 
bulldog  revolver;  they  snapped  their  arms  into 
position  of  quick  aim. 

Wagg  threw  up  his  hands  and  began  to  beg. 
Vaniman  held  himself  under  better  control. 

But  the  men  did  not  shoot.  They  returned  the 
guns  to  their  pockets  and  saluted  in  military  fashion, 
whacking  their  palms  violently  against  their  thighs 
in  finishing  salute. 

"Present!"  they  cried.  Then  the  dumpy  man 
287 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

grinned.  Wagg  had  been  goggling,  trying  to  resolve 
his  wild  incredulity  into  certainty.  That  grin 
settled  the  thing  for  him.  It  was  the  same  sort  of  a 
suggestive  grin  that  he  had  viewed  on  that  day  of 
days  in  the  prison  yard. 

"Number  Two-Eight-Two!"  he  quavered. 

"Sure  thing!"  The  dumpy  man  patted  the  tall 
man's  arm.  "Add  one,  and  you  have  Number 
Two-Eight-Three — a  pal  who  drew  the  next  number 
because  we're  always  in  company." 

"And  we're  here  because  we're  here,"  stated  the 
other. 

The  short  man  fixed  his  gaze  on  the  ex-cashier. 
"You  don't  realize  it  yet,  but  this  is  more  of  a  re 
union  than  it  looks  to  be  on  the  surface.  You  two 
gents  have  seen  how  we're  fixed  in  the  gun  line,  and 
we  hope  the  understanding  is  going  to  make  the 
party  sociable." 

"You  may  be  thinking  that  this  is  only  another 
case  of  it  being  proved  how  small  the  world  is,  after 
all,"  remarked  the  tall  man.  "Not  so!  Not  so! 
We  have  followed  you  two  because  we  have  im 
portant  business  with  you.  We  have  had  a  lot  of 
trouble  and  effort  in  getting  here.  Bear  that  in 
mind,  please!" 

The  new  arrivals  were  quite  matter-of-fact  and 
Wagg  was  helped  to  recover  some  of  his  composure. 
"The  two  of  you  are  three-year  men — robbery  in  the 
nighttime,"  he  declared,  out  of  his  official  knowl- 

288 


The  First  Peep  Behind  the  Curtain 

edge.  "What  in  the  blue  blazes  are  you  doing  out 
side  the  pen?" 

"Attending  to  the  same  business  as  you  are — after 
a  slice  of  the  bank  coin,"  replied  the  short  man, 
carelessly. 

Wagg  got  to  his  feet  and  banged  his  fists  to 
gether.  "Do  you  dare  to  walk  right  up  to  a  guard 
of  the  state  prison  and — and — "  He  balked  in  his 
demand  for  information;  Mr.  Wagg  was  plainly 
afflicted  with  a  few  uncomfortable  considerations  of 
his  own  situation. 

"We  do!"  the  convicts  declared  in  concert.  Then 
the  dumpy  man  went  on:  "And  whatever  else  it  is 
you're  wondering  whether  we  dare  to  do,  we'll  in 
form  that  we  dare.  Once  on  a  time  we  had  occasion 
to  express  our  opinion  of  a  bank.  I  wrote  out  that 
opinion  and  left  it  where  it  would  be  seen.  Not 
exactly  Sunday-school  language,  but  it  hit  the  case." 
He  turned  away  from  Vaniman's  frenzy  of  gasping 
interrogation.  He  confined  his  attention  to  Wagg. 
"A  prison  guard,  say  you?  You're  a  hell  of  a 
guard!" 

"Opinion  indorsed!"  said  the  other  convict. 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  complete  silence  on 
the  summit  of  Devilbrow.  Somewhere,  on  an  up 
land  farm  in  the  distance,  a  cow  mooed.  Then  a 
rooster  challenged  all  comers. 

"That's  the  word,  old  top!"  agreed  the  tall  man. 
"It  expresses  my  feelings."  He  clapped  his  hands 

289 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

against  his  legs  and  cried  in  his  tenor,  imitating  the 
singsong  of  the  rooster,  "We're  here  because  we're 
he-e-ere!" 

Then  he  and  his  fellow  sat  down  on  a  ledge  out 
cropping  that  overtopped  and  commanded  the  posi 
tion  of  the  other  men.  The  convicts  surveyed  Vani- 
man  and  Wagg  with  a  complacent  air  of  triumph. 
"Are  you  willing  to  take  things  as  they  stand,  or  do 
you  feel  that  you  can't  go  ahead  till  your  curiosity 
has  been  scratched?"  inquired  the  short  man. 

"Curiosity!"  stormed  the  ex-cashier.  "Do  you 
dare  to  call  the  feeling  I  have  in  me  curiosity?"  He 
thumped  his  fist  against  his  breast. 

"And  how  about  my  feelings,  with  escaped  con 
victs  racing  and  chasing  all  over  this  country?" 
shouted  the  guard.  "What  has  happened  to  that 
prison  since  I've  been  off  my  job?" 

"One  at  a  time!"  The  dumpy  man  put  up  his 
hand  to  shut  off  the  stream  of  questions  that  were 
pouring  from  Wagg.  "The  young  fellow  has  his 
innings  first.  He  has  more  good  reasons  for  rearing 
and  tearing.  It's  easy  enough  to  get  out  of  a  state 
prison  when  you  have  a  trick  that  can  be  worked 
once."  He  winked  at  Wagg.  Then  he  directed  his 
remarks  strictly  at  Vaniman. 

"I'm  going  to  talk  free  and  open.  We're  all  in 
the  same  boat.  We're  a  couple  of  pots,  and  both 
of  you  are  kettles,  all  black.  Now,  listen!  I'm 
Bill."  He  stuck  his  finger  against  his  breast  and 

290 


The  First  Peep  Behind  the  Curtain 

then  tagged  with  it  his  pal  at  his  side.  "He's 
Tom.  Bill  and  Tom  have  been  humble  and  hard 
working  yeggmen,  never  tackling  anything  bigger 
than  country  stores  and  farmers'  flivvers.  Once  on 
a  time  they  were  in  a  barn,  tucked  away  waiting  for 
night,  and  they  heard  a  man  running  a  double  shift 
of  talk — beating  down  the  farmer  on  the  price  of 
cattle  and  blowing  off  about  gold  coin  hoarded  by 
the  bushel  in  a  rube  bank." 

Stickney's  unruly  mouth!  Vaniman  understood. 
"So,  says  Bill  to  Tom:  'Why  not  go  up  like  every 
thing  else  is  going  up  these  days?'  Says  Tom  to 
Bill:  'I'm  on/  We  took  our  time  about  it,  getting 
the  lay  of  the  land.  We  went  down  to  the  big 
burg  to  buy  drills  and  soup  and  pick  up  points  on 
how  to  crack  a  real  nut.  Equipment  up  to  that  time 
had  been  a  glass  cutter  and  a  jimmy  for  back  win 
dows  and  padlocks." 

He  was  humorously  drawling  his  confession.  He 
stopped  talking  and  lighted  a  cigarette.  Impa 
tience  that  was  agony  urged  Vaniman,  but  he  con 
trolled  himself.  Wagg  did  not  venture  to  say  any 
thing.  His  thoughts  were  keeping  him  busy;  he 
was  mentally  galloping,  trying  to  catch  up  with  the 
new  situation. 

"And  let  me  tell  you  that  when  Bill  and  Tom  got 
back  up  here,  they  had  colder  feet  than  the  weather 
accounted  for.  General  headquarters,  that  camp!" 
He  jerked  thumb  gesture  toward  the  log  cabin. 

291 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"It  had  been  our  hang-out  in  times  past  when  we 
operated  in  this  section.  Handy  place!  Finally 
got  up  courage  enough  to  go  to  the  job.  Fine 
night  for  it!  Deserted  village.  Peeked  into  Town 
Hall  and  saw  the  general  round-up.  Light  in  the 
bank.  Bill  was  boosted  up  by  Tom  and  got  a  peek 
over  the  curtain.  One  fellow  inside  adding  figures 
— much  taken  up.  Bank-vault  door  wide  open. 
Front  door  unlocked.  Crawled  in.  Kept  crawling. 
Crawled  into  bank  room.  Grille  door  wide  open. 
Bill  up  and  hit  fellow  with  rubber  nob-knocker — it 
snuffs,  but  is  not  dangerous.  Tom  is  handy  by  with 
the  chloroform — always  carried  it  for  our  second- 
story  work." 

The  young  man  began  to  stride  to  and  fro,  striving 
by  using  his  legs  to  keep  from  using  his  tongue. 

The  narrator  snapped  the  ash  off  his  cigarette. 
"Bill  and  Tom  looked  at  each  other.  Did  they 
expect  such  easy  picking?  They  did  not.  The  stuff 
had  been  fairly  handed  to  'em.  They  dragged  the 
stuff  out — all  the  sacks  of  it.  Transportation  all 
planned  on.  Couple  of  handsleds  such  as  we  had 
seen  leaning  up  against  the  houses  in  the  village. 
Slipped  the  fellow  into  the  vault  with  his  hands 
tied  and  shut  the  door  with  a  trig  so  that  he  couldn't 
kick  it  open  right  away.  Idea  was  that  anybody 
stepping  in  later  would  think  he  had  gone  home; 
we  intended  to  put  out  the  light;  nothing  desperate 
about  us;  we  wouldn't  shoot  the  bolts.  Bill  said 

292 


The  First  Peep  Behind  the  Curtain 

to  Tom  that  there'd  be  a  hunt  for  the  fellow  when 
he  failed  to  show  up  at  home,  wherever  he  lived, 
and  he'd  sure  be  pulled  out  of  the  vault  in  good 
season.  Thoughtful,  you  see!  Not  bloody  villains. 
Simply  wanted  time  for  our  getaway.  Slow  pulling 
up  this  hill  with  handsleds!  But  we  slit  a  bag  to 
make  sure  of  what  we  would  be  pulling.  And  we 
kept  on  slitting  bags.  And — "  the  short  man  shook 
his  head  and  sighed.  "You  say  it,  Tom.  I'm  trying 
to  be  sociable  in  this  talk  with  these  gents — showing 
a  full  and  free  spirit  in  coming  across  with  the  facts. 
But  I  don't  trust  myself!" 

"Nor  I!"  declared  Tom.  "We'd  better  not  spoil 
a  pleasant  party." 

"Well,  Bill  wrote  his  sentiments,  as  they  occurred 
to  him  at  the  time.  Then  we  heard  somebody  hol 
lering  at  the  front  door  that  we  had  left  open.  We 
ran  and  jumped  behind  the  door  of  the  bank  office. 
The  fellow  who  galloped  in  ran  around  a  few  times 
in  circles  and  then  he  galloped  out.  He  might  have 
noticed  a  rhinoceros  if  the  rhino  had  risen  up  and 
bit  him.  But  he  paid  no  attention  to  Bill  and  Tom 
behind  the  door.  And  Bill  and  Tom  walked  out. 
And  we  managed  to  get  clear  of  the  village  just  as 
that  Town  Hall  crowd  broke  loose. 

"Says  Bill  to  Tom,  when  they  were  on  their  way: 
'It's  plain  that  banks  are  bunk,  like  everything 
else  these  days.  Let's  stick  to  our  humble  line 
where  we  know  what  we're  doing.'  But,  having 

293 


been  studying  bank  robbing,  we  had  got  ourselves 
nerved  up  to  take  desperate  chances — and  we 
bulled  the  regular  game  in  Levant.  Coarse  work, 
because  we  were  off  the  stride.  All  due  to  the  bank. 
The  bank  stands  liable  for  damages.  We're  up  here 
collecting.  Cashier,  consider  what  regular  and 
desperate  cracksmen  would  have  done  to  you! 
Considering  our  carefulness  where  you  were  con 
cerned,  and  the  trouble  we  have  been  put  to  in 
getting  out  and  chasing  you,  what  say?" 

Again  Vaniman  got  a  strong  grip  on  his  emotions. 
He  was  a  fugitive;  these  cheeky  rascals  had  his 
fate  in  their  hands;  he  was  not  in  a  position  to 
reply  to  their  effrontery  as  his  wild  desire  urged. 
He  did  not  dare  to  open  his  mouth  just  then  with 
any  sort  of  reply;  he  did  not  trust  himself  even  to 
look  their  way. 

"Think  it  over,"  advised  the  short  man,  com 
posedly.  "But  please  take  note  that  there  are  now 
four  of  us  in  on  the  split,  and  that  quartering  it 
makes  easy  figuring." 

Mr.  Wagg  was  not  composed.  This  threat  to 
disrupt  his  fifty-fifty  plan  brought  him  out  of  some 
thing  that  was  like  stupor.  "You  belong  back  in 
state  prison,  and  I'll  see  to  it  that  you're  put  there." 

The  man  who  called  himself  Bill  was  not  ruffled. 
He  waved  his  arm  to  indicate  the  spread  of  the  land 
scape.  "Doesn't  being  up  here  above  the  world 
lift  you  out  of  the  rut  of  petty  revenge?  Can't  you 

294 


The  First  Peep  Behind  the  Curtain 

see  things  in  a  broader  way?  I  can.  I  feel  like 
praising  you  for  that  job  you  put  up  to  get  our 
valuable  friend  out  where  he  can  help  all  four  of  us. 
For  many  a  day,  after  I  saw  that  you  had  this 
friend  out  in  the  yard  and  were  interested  in  him,  I 
tended  less  to  making  harness  pads  and  more  to 
watching  you  through  the  shop  window.  I  was 
interested  in  the  gent,  too.  Tom  and  I  had  made 
up  our  minds  to  be  as  patient  as  possible  for  seven 
years — and  then  be  rusticating  up  in  these  hills, 
right  on  hand  to  help  him  in  the  chore  of  digging  it 
out  of  whatever  hole  it's  hidden  in.  Couldn't  let 
you  monopolize  him — absolutely  not,  Mr.  Guard! 
Do  you  think  I  was  hiding  out  that  noon  only  by 
luck  and  chance?  No,  no!  I  saw  you  monkeying 
with  the  chimney  door  that  forenoon.  I  saw  how 
you  were  hopping  around  and  I  got  a  good  look  at 
your  face.  Says  I  to  myself,  Tom  not  being  handy, 
'There's  something  to  be  pulled  off,  and  I'll  make 
sure  how  it  is  pulled.'  That's  how  I  happened  to 
be  on  the  business  side  of  that  shield,  Mr.  Guard. 
It  was  good  work.  It  leaves  our  friend  pretty  com 
fortable,  so  far  as  the  dicks  are  concerned.  Tom 
and  I  have  got  to  keep  dodging  'em.  We  didn't 
have  your  advantages,  you  know — Tom  and  I 
didn't!  We  simply  did  the  best  we  could  in  getting 
out — realizing  the  value  of  time." 

The  short  man  was  employing  a  patronizing  tone, 
as  if  accomplishing  an  escape  from  state  prison  was 

20  295 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

merely  a  matter  of  election  of  methods.  All  of  the 
guard's  official  pride  was  in  arms.  He  advanced  on 
the  convict  and  shook  a  finger  under  his  nose. 
"How  did  you  get  out?  You  don't  dare  to  tell  me. 
It  was  an  accident.  You  didn't  use  any  brains. 
You  don't  dare  to  tell,  I  say!" 

"Oh  yes,  I  do!"  The  convict  was  placid.  "I'll 
tell  you  because  you'll  never  dare  to  open  your  mouth 
on  the  matter.  Furthermore,  you've  got  to  under 
stand  the  position  Tom  and  I  are  in  right  now  in 
regard  to  a  third  party.  That  party  is  a  trusty — he 
gets  out  in  three  months  from  now  and  has  been 
having  the  run  of  the  corridors  as  repair  man." 

Wagg  growled  something. 

"Oh  yes,  he  will!"  asseverated  the  convict. 
"He'll  come  out  on  time!  A  fine  show  of  yourself 
you'll  make  trying  to  dutch  him.  The  pen  is  mightier 
than  the  sword,  but  inside  a  prison  pen  the  little 
screw  driver  has  'em  all  faded  when  a  trusty  is  the 
repair  man.  Cell  door,  tier  door,  attic  door — all 
attended  to;  ventilator  grating  likewise.  Rope  in 
ventilator,  up  rope — out  goes  rope  and  down  rope! 
Roof,  wall,  drop!  Rear  window  of  second-hand 
shop.  Outfit!  Hike!  Good  start,  till  morning  shows 
the  cot  dummies!  Truss  rods  of  Wagner  freight, 
blind  baggage  to  Levant  on  the  'tween-days  train. 
Into  the  bush — and  here!" 

"With  this  added  by  me,"  put  in  the  other  convict. 
"That  trusty  was  a  pal  in  the  old  days.  He  under- 

296 


The  First  Peep  Behind  the  Curtain 

stands  what  his  friends'  financial  interest  is  in  this 
thing,  and  how  we  needed  to  get  out  sudden  to  tend 
to  that  interest.  We  have  given  him  our  word.  He 
took  that  word  like  it  was  a  certified  check.  And  he's 
going  to  cash  in  on  that  word!" 

"He  sure  is!"  declared  the  short  man.  "We  pass 
words  instead  of  checks  in  our  business,  and  a  man 
who  lets  a  promise  go  to  protest  is  crabbed  for  keeps. 
We  have  incurred  obligations  so  as  to  get  in  at  the 
split."  He  spread  out  his  palm  and  tapped  a  digit 
into  the  center  of  it.  "Cash — here!" 

"Strictly  on  a  business  basis,  of  course,"  said  the 
tall  man.  "We  don't  call  for  a  special  split  for  the 
trusty.  It's  a  personal  debt  incurred  by  Bill  and  me. 
We  ask  nobody  to  pay  our  personal  debts.  All  we 
ask  is  that  debts  due  us  be  paid.  And  we're  drawing 
a  sight  draft  on  you  gents.  Bill  and  I  are  probably 
only  a  few  jumps  ahead  of  the  dicks.  Where's  the 
coin?" 

He  brutally  thrust  the  question  at  Vaniman.  The 
young  man  turned  to  Wagg,  seeking  support  in  that 
crisis,  believing  that  the  affair  could  be  held  on  the 
basis  of  two  against  two  in  the  interests  of  further 
dilatory  tactics.  Wagg  had  been  showing  indignant 
protest  against  the  demands  of  the  interlopers.  But 
his  corrugated  face  was  smoothed  suddenly.  He 
had  evidently  decided  to  cash  in  on  the  new  basis. 
"That's  what  I  want  to  know — and  what  I  have  been 
trying  to  find  out.  Where's  the  coin?" 

297 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

The  realignment — three  against  one — was  menac 
ing.  Vaniman  surveyed  the  faces — the  glowering, 
demanding  countenances,  the  eyes  in  which  money 
lust  gleamed.  He  knew  that  the  men  were  in  a  mood 
where  the  truth  would  serve  him  in  sad  stead.  He 
had  no  knack  as  a  liar.  He  understood  how  little 
chance  he  had  of  convincing  those  shrewd  knaves  by 
his  inept  falsehoods  in  that  extremity.  He  had  al 
ready  meditated  on  the  plan  of  running  away  from 
Wagg.  His  reasons  for  escaping  from  this  intolerable 
baiting  were  now  threefold. 

"It's  too  near  sunset  for  a  job  that  will  take  us  a 
long  way  through  the  woods,"  he  blurted. 

"I'll  admit  I'm  so  tired  I  can't  count  money  till 
I've  had  a  night's  sleep,"  confessed  the  short  man. 
"But  you  make  your  promise  now  and  here,  Mr. 
Cashier.  When?"  He  emphasized  the  last  word. 

"To-morrow!" 

"A  promissory  note — dated  and  delivered.  Don't 
let  it  go  to  protest.  That's  language  you  can  under 
stand,  Mr.  Bankman." 

Vaniman  walked  off  toward  the  cabin  and  the 
three  men  followed  him. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE    SHOW-DOWN 

LJIS  troubles  and  his  trials  had  not  wholly  dulled 
*  •*•  youth's  sense  of  the  ludicrous  in  Vaniman.  He 
sat  down  that  evening  to  the  meal  that  had  been 
prepared  by  Guard  Wagg,  late  of  the  state  prison, 
for  three  fugitive  convicts,  also  late  of  that  institu 
tion.  The  chimney  of  the  kerosene  lamp  was  smoky 
and  the  light  was  dim,  therefore  Vaniman's  grin  was 
hidden  from  his  companions.  Undoubtedly  it  would 
have  produced  no  especial  wonderment  in  them  if 
they  had  noted  his  cheerful  visage.  They  were  de 
cidedly  cheerful,  themselves.  Mr.  Wagg  was  no 
longer  exhibiting  the  official  side  of  his  nature;  he 
was  receiving  compliments  on  his  biscuits.  The 
three  who  had  aligned  themselves  against  Vaniman 
seemed  to  be  getting  along  in  very  friendly  fashion, 
being  bound  by  a  common  interest. 

From  biscuits  in  hand  the  conversation  passed  to 
the  prison  fare  in  retrospect.  Wagg  admitted  that 
the  fare  was  a  disgrace  to  the  state.  From  that 
point  it  was  easy  to  go  on  and  agree  with  the  short 
man  and  the  tall  man  that  the  prison  was  mis- 

299 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

managed  generally  and  that  a  man  was  lucky  in 
being  able  to  get  away  from  such  a  place — no  matter 
whether  he  was  a  guard  or  a  prisoner.  The  incon 
gruous  friendliness  increased  Vaniman's  amusement. 
He  looked  at  the  two  knaves  who  had  recently 
enlightened  their  victim  in  such  a  matter-of-fact 
manner.  He  admitted  that  the  comedy  overbalanced 
the  tragedy,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  the  job  had 
resolved  itself  into  petty  sneak-thievery.  Taking 
into  consideration  the  trick  money  they  had  found, 
there  was  considerable  farce  in  the  affair.  However, 
Vaniman,  looking  ahead  to  the  threatening  to 
morrow,  perceived  tragedy  looming  again. 

Victim,  criminals,  guard  of  the  criminals,  they  were 
breaking  bread  in  a  temporary  comradeship  of  a 
bizarre  nature — bound  by  that  universal  appeal  to 
human  nature — a  money  quest.  But  that  money 
interest  which  bound  them  of  an  evening  would  be  a 
disastrous  problem  on  the  morrow,  if  one  man 
attempted  to  stand  out  against  three. 

The  one  man  made  up  his  mind  that  there  was 
a  risky  resource  for  him — to  flee  and  take  his  chances 
alone  in  the  woods;  he  had  decided  to  put  his 
own  personal  interpretation  on  the  promise,  "To 
morrow!" 

Right  after  supper  he  turned  into  his  bunk,  in 
order  to  simulate  slumber  and  avoid  the  questions 
that  he  could  not  answer. 

The  two  new  arrivals  had  had  much  to  say  about 
300 


The  Show-down 

their  weariness.  He  expected  that  they  would 
promptly  eliminate  themselves  as  obstacles  to  flight. 
Mr.  Wagg,  at  any  rate,  had  shown  a  confiding  dis 
position  all  along. 

But  the  tall  man  and  the  short  man  conferred 
sotto  voce  and  then  let  it  be  known  that  they  had 
suspended  payment  of  confidence  currency  for  the 
time  being. 

"The  idea  is,"  explained  the  short  man,  "this 
being  a  pleasant  party,  and  all  interests  being 
common,  it  would  be  a  shame  to  have  it  broken  up. 
Tom  will  sit  there  in  the  door  for  two  hours — then 
he  wakes  me  and  I  sit  there.  We're  not  accusing 
anybody  inside  of  wanting  to  leave;  but  who  is  sure 
that  somebody  from  the  outside  may  not  stroll 
along  and  want  to  come  in?  Seeing  that  we  went 
down  to  the  pen  from  Levant,  it  may  be  thought — 
providing  they  do  any  thinking  at  the  state  prison 
— that  we  have  come  back  here  to  start  in  where  we 
left  off.  On  the  other  hand,  providing  they  don't 
do  any  thinking,  they  may  come  up  into  this  section 
because  a  reasoning  man  never  would  believe  we'd 
take  chances  by  coming  back  into  an  old  stamping 
ground.  Either  way  it's  looked  at,  we've  got  to  be 
careful.  Therefore,  we  hope  that  gents  of  a  pleasant 
party  will  consider  this  double-shift  arrangement  as 
being  for  the  general  good  of  all  hands." 

Mr.  Wagg  was  pleased.  He  said  so  unhesitatingly, 
but  not  tactfully.  He  declared  that  he  would 

301 


mortally  hate  to  be  surprised  keeping  the  company 
he  was  in. 

Vaniman  was  able  to  stay  awake  through  most  of 
two  watches.  But  the  short  man  on  sentry  go  was 
more  vigilant  than  the  tall  man  had  been;  two 
hours  of  sleep  and  the  keen  hope  for  the  morrow 
conspired  to  keep  the  guard  alert.  In  despair  the 
young  man  loosed  his  hold  on  the  hateful  verities 
and  slipped  into  slumber. 

He  was  suddenly  awakened  by  a  pinching  grip  on 
his  arm.  He  opened  his  eyes  upon  broad  day  and 
upon  the  face  of  the  tall  man.  He  was  aware  that 
the  short  man  was  shaking  Wagg  awake  in  the  next 
bunk.  "Two  men  coming  up  the  side  of  the  moun 
tain;  got  a  slant  at  'em  through  the  trees;  they're 
after  us!" 

"Sho!"  demurred  Wagg.  "They're  only  bird 
hunters." 

"We're  taking  no  chances  on  'em  being  jailbird 
hunters!  Are  there  any  holes  here  in  the  rocks?" 

"Plenty,"  stated  Wagg.  "And  the  three  of  you 
better  hunt  them  holes,  no  matter  who  is  coming." 

The  short  man,  the  tall  man,  and  Vaniman  needed 
no  urging  on  that  point.  They  ran,  crouching  low, 
and  scrambled  out  of  sight  among  the  ledges  of  the 
craggy  peak  of  Devilbrow. 

Wagg  lighted  his  pipe  and  went  out  and  sat  on 
the  bench  beside  the  camp's  door,  and  when  the  two 
early  visitors  came  puffing  up  the  hill  and  confronted 

302 


The  Show-down 

him  he  was  to  all  appearances  enjoying  the  delights 
of  a  bland  fall  morning  and  the  comfort  of  an  un 
ruffled  conscience.  He  jumped  to  his  feet  and  hailed 
one  of  the  men  with  a  great  show  of  cordiality;  the 
man  was  one  of  the  deputy  wardens  of  the  state 
prison. 

Mr.  Wagg  hopefully  and  guilelessly  expressed  the 
conviction  that  the  officer  had  followed  along  into 
the  wilderness  in  order  to  join  in  the  process  of 
"recooperation." 

The  deputy  asserted  that  Mr.  Wagg  was  wrong  to 
the  extent  of  a  damsite,  or  something  of  the  sort,  and 
reported  some  recent  happenings  at  the  state  prison, 
Mr.  Wagg  listening  with  appropriate,  shocked,  official 
concern.  He  opined  that  it  was  a  long  shot,  figuring 
that  the  convicts  had  fled  back  to  the  region  of  Le 
vant.  The  warden  agreed.  "But  the  Old  Man  is 
bound  to  have  us  tip  over  every  flat  rock,  Bart.  He 
got  a  call-down  for  that  accident — and  this  matter 
on  top  of  it  has  made  him  sore.  I'm  up  here  this  far 
because  I  got  a  line  on  you  at  Levant." 

"You  did,  hey?"  Mr.  Wagg  gazed  off  across  the 
landscape,  as  if  wondering  how  much  of  a  trail  he 
had  left. 

"You  dropped  ' recooperates '  like  a  molting 
rooster  drops  feathers,  Bart,"  averred  the  warden, 
jocosely.  "That  was  my  trail.  Reckoned  I'd  come 
and  tip  you  off  so  that  you  can  do  a  little  scouting  for 
the  good  cause." 

303 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

Mr.  Wagg  threw  out  his  chest.  "You  can  leave 
this  hill  section  to  me.  Always  on  the  job!  That's 
my  motto." 

The  deputy  said  he  knew  that,  stated  that  he 
would  probably  spend  a  week  along  the  highways  and 
in  the  villages  of  the  section,  got  a  drink  of  water 
from  a  spring  near  at  hand,  and  departed  with  his  aide. 

And  after  the  two  were  far  down  the  slope,  Mr. 
Wagg  called  in  his  campmates  with  the  caution  of  a 
hen  partridge  assembling  the  brood  after  the  hunter 
has  passed.  "It  means  that  we've  got  to  stick 
close  by  this  camp  and  mind  our  business  for  a  week, 
at  any  rate,"  he  said,  after  he  had  reported  the 
conversation. 

Vaniman  could  not  keep  the  complacency  out  of 
his  countenance.  He  caught  the  short  man  squinting 
at  him  with  a  peculiar  expression.  "It  would  be 
mighty  dangerous  for  any  one  of  us  to  go  far  from 
this  camp,"  said  the  young  man. 

"It  sure  would!"  agreed  the  convict,  sententiously. 

Vaniman  was  promptly  conscious  that  his  innocent 
air  had  not  been  convincing. 

He  became  more  fully  aware  of  that  fact  when  the 
tall  man  and  the  short  man  resumed  guard  duty 
that  night,  turn  about.  It  was  plain  that  they  pro 
posed  to  hang  grimly  to  the  token  in  their  possession 
until  the  token  could  be  cashed  in  for  the  coin. 

The  confinement  behind  prison  bars  had  tested 
Vaniman's  powers  of  endurance;  this  everlasting 

304 


The  Show-down 

espionage  by  the  men  who  had  set  themselves  over 
him  tried  him  still  more  bitterly.  They  lacked  the 
sanction  of  the  law  which  even  an  innocent  man  re 
spects  while  he  chafes.  While  that  situation  con 
tinued  he  was  prevented  from  taking  any  step  toward 
clearing  up  his  tangled  affairs.  He  could  look  down 
on  the  roofs  of  the  village  of  Egypt  and  meditate 
savagely — and  that  was  all.  Vona  had  apprised  him 
of  Britt's  plans  regarding  a  mansion.  He  could  see 
that  structure  taking  shape  rapidly.  Men  swarmed 
over  it  like  bees  over  a  hive.  He  did  not  doubt  the 
loyalty  of  the  girl.  But  he  was  left  to  wonder  how 
long  her  loyalty  to  the  memory  of  a  dead  man  would 
endure. 

Day  by  day,  through  dragging  hours,  he  suffered 
from  the  agonizing  monotony  of  the  camp.  But  the 
future  offered  only  a  somber  prospect.  After  this 
respite  in  the  insistence  of  the  treasure  seekers,  he 
could  expect  only  ugly  determination  when  they 
dared  to  make  a  move  in  the  matter.  They  had 
plenty  of  leisure  for  talk.  They  were  already 
spending  that  money!  Wagg  was  even  more  im 
patient  than  the  others. 

Though  Vaniman  had  been  cruelly  tortured  by 
thoughts  of  the  injustice  that  had  been  visited  on 
him,  by  his  reflections  that  the  Egyptians  had  shown 
him  no  consideration,  he  had  nursed  the  hope  that 
he  might  contrive  to  give  them  back  their  money 
after  he  had  dragged  from  Britt  the  truth. 

305 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

But  at  last,  in  his  new  spirit  of  loneliness,  in  the 
consciousness  that  no  man's  hand  was  offered  to 
him  in  the  way  of  help,  he  entered  upon  a  new  phase 
of  resolution.  He  had  gone  into  prison  with  youth's 
ingenuous  belief  that  the  truth  would  prevail.  He 
had  permitted  a  lie  to  aid  in  prying  his  way  out,  and 
now  he  was  paltering  with  evasions  and  making  no 
progress  except  toward  more  dangerous  involvement. 
One  afternoon  sudden  fury  swept  the  props  out  from 
under  caution. 

He  leaped  up  from  the  rock  on  which  he  had  been 
sitting,  pondering,  the  rumble  of  the  conspirators'  con 
versation  serving  as  obbligato  for  the  cry  his  soul  wTas 
uttering.  He  was  between  them  and  the  sunset  sky. 

"The  truth!"  he  shouted. 

The  three  men  peered  at  him,  shading  their  eyes. 
He  seemed  to  tower  with  heroic  stature.  He  came 
at  them,  shaking  his  fists  over  his  head. 

"You  are  thieves  and  renegades.  I  don't  believe 
you  know  the  truth  when  you  hear  it.  But  you're 
going  to  hear  it.'* 

He  tackled  Wagg  first.  He  set  the  grip  of  both  of 
his  hands  into  the  slack  of  the  shoulders  of  the 
amazed  guard's  coat  and  yanked  Wagg  to  his  feet 
and  shouted,  with  his  nose  barely  an  inch  from 
Wagg's  face,  "I  told  you  the  truth  at  first.  I  said 
I  didn't  take  the  money.  I  said  I  didn't  know  where 
the  money  was.  You  gave  me  a  chance  to  get  out 
by  a  lie.  I'm  human.  I  took  the  chance." 

306 


The  Show-down 

He  threw  Wagg  from  him  with  a  force  that  sent 
the  man  staggering;  the  guard  stumbled  over  a  rock 
and  fell  on  his  back. 

He  turned  on  the  convicts.  By  his  set-to  with 
Wagg  he  had  gained  their  full  attention.  "You  low 
lived  scoundrels,  do  you  know  an  honest  man  when 
you  lay  eyes  on  him?  I  declare  that  I  am  one. 
Dispute  me,  and  I'll  knock  your  teeth  down  your 
throats — guns  or  no  guns.  I  don't  know  where  that 
money  is.  I  never  touched  that  money.  I  didn't 
know  what  was  in  those  sacks.  If  you  were  decent 
men,  with  any  conception  of  an  oath  before  God, 
I'd  swear  to  the  truth  of  what  I  say.  I  won't  lower 
myself  to  make  oath!  I  make  the  statement.  And 
now  let  some  of  you — or  all  three  of  you — stand  up 
in  front  of  me  and  tell  me  that  I'm  lying.  Come  on! 
It's  an  open  field!" 

They  did  not  stand  up.    Wagg  merely  sat  up. 

"Say  something!  Some  one  of  you!  Say 
something!"  pleaded  Vaniman  through  his  set 
teeth. 

The  convicts  kept  their  sitting.  Vaniman  went 
on  adjuring  them  to  stand  up  and  say  something. 
They  showed  no  resentment  when  he  called  them 
names,  and  they  indicated  no  relish  for  battle. 

"Hold  on  a  minute!"  pleaded  the  short  man. 
"You  seem  to  have  your  mind  well  made  up  as  to 
what  we'd  better  not  say.  I  may  have  to  eat  state- 
prison  grub  again,  and  I'll  need  my  teeth.  Won't 

307 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

you  kindly  drop  a  hint  as  to  what  would  suit  you  in 
the  line  of  talk?" 

"You  can  tell  me  whether  you  think  I'm  handing 
you  the  truth  or  not." 

"I  think  you  are,"  agreed  Bill,  readily. 

"So  do  I,"  asserted  Tom. 

"How  about  you,  Wagg?"  Vaniman  demanded, 
resolved  on  clearing  the  matter  up  once  for  all. 

But  the  lethargic  Mr.  Wagg  was  manifestly 
unable  to  turn  his  slow  wits  on  the  single  track  of  his 
mind  and  start  them  off  in  the  opposite  direction. 

"No  matter  about  him  now,"  said  the  short  man. 
"Give  his  mind  time.  A  toadstool  grows  fast  after 
it  gets  started." 

This  meek  surrender  helped  Vaniman  to  regain 
his  poise.  "If  you're  willing  to  take  the  truth  from 
me,  men,  I'll  meet  you  halfway.  You  have  been 
frank  and  open  with  me.  Men  who  pretend  to  be 
better  than  you,  they  have  lied  to  me  and  about  me. 
That's  why  I  was  sent  to  state  prison." 

"Tom  and  I  couldn't  do  business  like  we  do  if  we 
lied  to  folks  of  our  kind.  Didn't  we  cash  in  our  word 
to  the  trusty?  Being  in  the  hole,  as  you  are  right 
now,  you'll  excuse  me  for  saying  that  we  consider 
you  one  of  our  kind." 

"Thank  you,"  returned  the  young  man,  accepting 
that  statement  at  face  value. 

The  short  man  lighted  a  cigarette  and  pondered 
for  a  few  moments.  "You  didn't  take  the  money. 

308 


The  Show-down 

Tom  and  I  believe  what  you  say.  Wagg  will  catch 
up  with  the  procession  later.  All  right,  Vaniman! 
But,  seeing  how  anxious  you  were  to  get  out  and  up 
here,  it's  likely  that  you  have  a  pretty  good  idea  as 
to  who  did  take  the  money.  If  you  need  any  help 
in  squaring  yourself,  I'll  call  your  attention  to  the 
fact  that  here  are  a  couple  of  gents  who  have  a  little 
spare  time  on  their  hands." 

Vaniman  was  then  in  no  mood  to  balance  the  rights 
and  the  wrongs  of  the  case.  "I  have  started  in  on 
the  basis  of  the  whole  truth,  and  I'm  coming  through, 
men.  I'm  following  your  lead.  I  was  framed  in  that 
bank  matter.  There  was  a  man  who  had  the  oppor 
tunity  to  exchange  junk  for  that  gold.  He  made 
that  opportunity  for  himself  by  working  on  my  good 
nature.  The  man  is  Tasper  Britt,  who  was  the  presi 
dent  of  that  bank.  He  took  the  money.  He  knows 
where  it  is." 

"Do  you  think  he  is  the  only  one  who  knows?" 

"Naturally,  he  wouldn't  be  passing  the  word 
around." 

"You're  a  bank  man — you  had  the  run  of  the 
premises — you  had  a  chance  to  know  the  general 
style  of  his  ways!  What  do  you  guess  he  did  with 
it?" 

"I'm  sticking  to  the  truth — and  what  I  actually 
know.  I'm  not  guessing." 

"Not  even  when  you  say  he  took  the  money?" 

"I  didn't  see  him  take  it.  But  he  had  a  private 
309 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

entrance  to  the  vault.  Everybody  was  so  determined 
to  plaster  the  guilt  on  to  me  that  no  move  was  made 
against  Britt  on  account  of  that  back  door  of  his. 
I  was  railroaded  by  perjurers — and  Britt  was  the 
captain  of  'em." 

"There's  a  corner  on  'most  everything  these  days, 
but  it's  really  too  bad  for  a  man  like  Britt  to  have  a 
corner  on  so  much  valuable  knowledge,"  sighed  the 
short  man. 

And  the  tall  man  sighed  and  agreed. 

Mr.  Wagg  was  catching  up.  With  the  appearance 
of  a  man  who  had  been  running  and  was  out  of  breath 
he  panted,  "What's — what's  going  to  be  done  about 
it?" 

Vaniman  made  no  suggestions.  Having  cut  the 
knot  of  his  own  entanglement  where  these  men 
were  concerned,  he  felt  no  spirit  of  alacrity  about 
inviting  them  farther  into  his  personal  affairs;  he 
realized  that  he  had  merely  shifted  the  course  of 
their  dogged  pursuit  of  that  money.  In  spite  of  his 
feelings  toward  Britt,  he  was  dreading  what  might 
come  from  the  disclosures  he  had  just  made.  He 
had  reason  to  distrust  the  tactics  such  men  might 
employ.  His  relief  arising  from  the  show-down  was 
tinged  with  regret;  he  was  still  sorry  for  the  innocent 
losers  in  Egypt.  To  employ  two  escaped  convicts 
and  a  recreant  prison  guard  in  his  efforts  to  prevail 
on  Britt  and  secure  the  rights  due  an  innocent  man 
promised  to  involve  him  more  wretchedly. 

310 


The  Show-down 

"Vaniman,  suppose  you  take  command  and  give 
off  your  orders,"  said  the  short  man. 

"I  haven't  any  sensible  plans.  I  admit  that.  I 
have  been  so  pestered  and  wrought  up  by  the  ever 
lasting  bullyragging  about  the  devilish  money  that  I 
haven't  had  a  chance  to  figure  out  a  way  of  getting 
at  the  man  who  has  ruined  me,"  Vaniman  com 
plained.  He  strode  to  and  fro,  snapping  his  fingers, 
revealing  his  sense  of  helplessness. 

"Suppose  we  sleep  on  the  thing — the  whole  four 
of  us,"  suggested  the  short  man.  "I  said  sleep, 
please  note!  This  general  show-down  has  cleared 
the  air  up  here  a  whole  lot,  I'll  say!  And  Wagg  has 
steered  away  the  dicks!  They  won't  be  strolling  in, 
and  till  we  have  settled  on  a  plan  I'm  sure  nobody 
will  feel  like  strolling  out.  The  night  watch  is 
disbanded." 

He  marched  off  toward  the  camp.     The  others 
trailed  on  behind  him. 
21 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE   STIR   OF  THE  YEAST 

M  R.  DELMONT  BANGS  was  naturally  of  an 
*  *  *  observant  nature.  While  he  was  in  Egypt  he 
was  keeping  his  eyes  particularly  wide  open.  He 
was  looking  for  two  men  wanted  by  the  state.  Mr. 
Bangs  was  the  deputy  warden  who  had  gone  up  to 
the  summit  of  Devilbrow  in  order  to  view  the 
landscape  o'er  and  pass  the  word  to  Mr.  Wagg. 
Mr.  Bangs  rode  along  every  highway  and  byway, 
day  after  day,  not  missing  a  trick.  He  was  not 
especially  sanguine  in  regard  to  locating  the  missing 
convicts  in  that  section,  but  he  was  obeying  the 
warden's  orders;  after  a  day  or  so  he  was  also  obey 
ing  an  impulse  to  satisfy  his  curiosity  in  lines  quite 
apart  from  his  official  quest. 

He  spent  his  nights  at  Files's  tavern  and  grabbed 
his  meals  wherever  he  happened  to  be. 

But  after  a  time  he  found  that  housewives  were 
unwilling  to  give  him  anything  to  eat.  He  was  sure 
that  they  had  not  soured  on  him  because  he  was  a 
state  catchpoll.  When  he  first  arrived  in  town  and 
gave  out  the  news  of  his  mission  and  issued  a  general 

312 


The  Stir  of  the  Yeast 

call  for  tips  he  was  welcomed  heartily  by  everybody; 
the  women,  especially,  hoped  that  he  would  find  the 
villains  and  put  them  where  they  could  not  threaten 
unprotected  females.  Mr.  Bangs  had  not  been  able 
to  spend  his  money  for  food  at  farmhouses;  the 
women  would  not  accept  any  pay,  and  gave  him 
their  best. 

However,  all  at  once  they  could  not  be  induced 
to  give  food  or  even  to  sell  it.  They  acted  as  if  they 
did  not  care  to  be  bothered;  some  of  them  declared 
that  they  were  too  busy  to  do  cooking.  They  would 
not  allow  Mr.  Bangs  to  stick  his  nose  into  their 
houses;  they  snapped  refusal  at  him  from  behind 
doors  only  partially  opened  and  foot-braced. 

Men  with  whom  Bangs  conversed  wore  an  air  of 
abstraction.  They  plainly  were  not  interested  in 
Mr.  Bangs  or  in  the  convicts  whom  he  was  pur 
suing.  He  tackled  them  on  all  sorts  of  subjects, 
hoping  to  hit  on  the  topic  which  was  absorbing  so 
much  of  their  attention.  He  went  so  far  as  to  ask 
them  bluntly  what  they  were  carrying  on  their 
minds  besides  hair.  Those  who  were  not  surly 
looked  scared. 

Even  the  barn  doors  were  no  longer  frankly  open. 
There  was  a  mysterious  sort  of  subsurface  stir  every 
where.  There  was  expectancy  that  was  illy  dis 
guised.  Mr.  Bangs,  a  stranger,  perceived  that 
strangers,  for  some  unexplained  reason,  had  ceased 
to  be  popular  in  Egypt.  One  day  a  man  gruffly  told 


him  that  detectives  would  do  well  to  go  off  and  do 
their  detecting  in  some  other  place.  That  was 
pretty  blunt,  and  Mr.  Bangs  informed  his  helper  that 
he,  personally,  had  had  about  enough  of  the  gummed- 
up,  infernal  town.  He  declared  that  he  was  going  to 
leave.  Mr.  Bangs  was  more  certain  about  his  de 
parture  when  he  arrived  back  at  Files's  tavern  that 
evening.  Mr.  Files  informed  him  that  there  would 
be  no  more  accommodations  at  the  tavern  after  that 
night.  Mr.  Files,  questioned,  refused  to  say  whether 
he  intended  to  close  the  tavern  or  was  merely  going 
away;  he  would  reveal  nothing  about  his  further 
plans. 

Mr.  Bangs  went  out  and  sat  on  the  porch  bench 
with  his  helper,  and  irefully  asked  that  bewildered 
person  what  the  ding-dong  the  matter  was  with  the 
dad-fired  town,  anyway? 

In  default  of  specific  knowledge  the  aide  tried  to 
be  humorous.  He  told  Mr.  Bangs  that  it  looked  as 
if  the  hive  was  getting  ready  to  swarm.  His  face- 
tiousness  fell  flat;  Mr.  Bangs  scowled.  The  helper 
became  serious. 

"I've  been  watching  the  old  hystrampus  they  call 
the  Prophet.  Everywhere  we've  been  the  past  few 
days,  he  seems  to  be  just  coming  or  just  going. 
Noticed  him,  haven't  you?" 

"Of  course  I've  noticed  him." 

"I  don't  know  what  his  religious  persuasion  is, 
because  he  hasn't  done  any  talking  where  I  could 

3H 


The  Stir  of  the  Yeast 

overhear  him.  But  he  seems  to  be  getting  busier  all 
the  time.  Do  you  know  what  he  preaches?" 

"I'm  working  for  the  state  prison,  not  the  state 
insane  asylum." 

"Well,"  drawled  the  other,  "though  I  don't  know 
what  he's  preaching,  the  general  fussed-up  condition 
here  in  this  town  reminds  me  of  what  happened  in 
Carmel  when  I  lived  there  as  a  boy.  One  of  them 
go-upper  preachers  struck  town.  He  finally  got 
most  of  our  neighbors  into  a  state  of  whee-ho  where 
the  womenfolks  made  ascension  robes  for  all  con 
cerned  and  the  menfolks  built  a  high  platform  and 
they  all  climbed  up  on  it  and  waited  all  one  night  for 
Gabr'el's  trump  to  sound." 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  this  town  ? "  demanded 
Mr.  Bangs,  impatiently. 

"Why,  considering  how  near  busted  the  town  is — • 
and  all  the  timber  cut  off  and  the  farms  run  out — I 
wouldn't  wonder  a  mite  if  the  right  kind  of  a  preacher 
could  get  'em  into  a  frame  of  mind  where  they'd  be 
willing  to  start  for  anywhere — even  straight  down, 
provided  they  couldn't  arrange  matters  so  as  to  go 
straight  up,  like  the  Carmel  folks  planned  on.  Not 
as  how  I  say  that  these  folks  are  going  to  get  up  and 
hump  it  out  of  Egypt!  But  there's  a  whole  lot  of 
restle-ness  in  'em!  That's  plain  enough  to  be  seen!" 

"If  there's  half  as  much  of  it  in  'em  as  there  is  in 
me,  right  now,  they'll  all  follow  me  when  I  drive  out 
of  town  in  the  morning,"  declared  Mr.  Bangs.  "And 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

what  that  king  pin,  name  o'  Britt,  is  building  that 
palace  over  there  for  is  beyond  my  guess." 

"Expects  to  grab  off  the  girl  of  the  Vaniman  case," 
said  the  aide,  who  had  put  himself  in  the  way  of 
hearing  all  the  local  gossip. 

Mr.  Bangs  lighted  a  fresh  cigar.  "Say,  I'd  like  to 
find  out  whether  this  stir  here  is  a  go-upper  proposi 
tion.  I'd  join  the  party  and  go  up,  too,  if  I  thought 
I  could  locate  that  cashier  and  find  out  where  he  hid 
that  mess  of  gold." 

"Try  the  ouija  board,"  giggled  the  aide. 

However,  in  his  desperate  desire  for  information 
in  general  Mr.  Bangs  proceeded  to  try  something 
which  suited  better  his  practical  turn  of  mind. 

He  hailed  Prophet  Elias,  who  had  appeared  in  the 
open  door  of  Usial  Britt's  shop.  The  gloom  of  the 
autumn  evening  was  deepened  by  vapor  which  came 
drifting  from  the  lowlands  after  the  night  air  had 
chilled  the  moisture  evoked  by  the  sun  from  the  soil. 
The  open  door  set  a  patch  of  radiance  on  the  dun 
robe  of  the  dusk.  The  light  spread  upon  the  vapor, 
was  diffused  in  it,  furnished  an  aura  of  soft  glow  in  the 
center  of  which  stood  the  robed  figure. 

Deputy  Bangs's  first  hail,  when  Elias  opened  the 
door  and  stood  revealed,  was  contemptuously 
brusque;  he  used  the  tone  he  commonly  employed 
toward  his  charges  in  prison;  he  perceived  at  first 
only  the  queer  old  chap,  the  dusty  plodder  of  the 
highways,  the  man  of  cracked  wits.  Bangs  spoke 

316 


The  Stir  of  the  Yeast 

as  an  officer,  peremptorily:  "Say,  you!  Come  over 
here.  I  want  to  talk  with  you!" 

The  Prophet  made  no  move,  either  with  his  feet 
or  his  tongue.  In  the  haze  that  lay  between  him  and 
Bangs,  the  man  of  the  robe  seemed  to  tower  and  to 
take  on  a  mystic  dignity  which  had  been  lacking 
in  the  candid  light  of  day.  After  the  silence  had  con 
tinued  for  some  time  Bangs  spoke  again.  His  new 
manner  showed  that  his  eyes  had  been  reprimanding 
his  tongue.  "Excuse  me!  I  didn't  mean  to  sound 
short.  But  would  you  kindly  step  across  here? 
Or" — the  eyes  certainly  had  shamed  the  tongue  and 
had  humbled  it — "or  I'll  come  over  there,  if  you'd 
rather  have  it  that  way." 

The  Prophet  strode  along  the  misty  path  of  light 
and  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  "Talk — but  I 
must  ask  you  to  talk  to  the  point  and  in  few  words. 
I  have  no  time  to  waste  on  gossip." 

"All  right!  Few  words  it  is!  What's  the  matter 
with  this  town  all  of  a  sudden?" 

"Ask  Pharaoh.    The  kingdom  is  his." 

"I  don't  get  you!" 

The  deputy's  helper  pulled  his  chief's  sleeve  and 
hissed  some  rapid  words  of  explanation,  more  fruit 
gathered  from  local  gossip. 

"Oh,  so  that's  what  you  call  him?  However,  I'm 
asking  you.  You  ought  to  know.  I've  seen  you  all 
over  the  lot,  talking  with  everybody." 

"Ask  Pharaoh!"  repeated  the  Prophet,  sonorously. 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

The  helper  nudged  Bangs  with  a  swift  punch. 
"If  you  feel  like  taking  that  advice,  boss,  here's 
your  chance.  There's  Tasper  Britt." 

The  magnate  of  Egypt  was  revealed  suddenly, 
coming  from  the  direction  of  his  new  mansion.  He 
strode  past  Elias.  "Ask  Pharaoh!"  advised  the 
Prophet  once  more,  and  Britt  halted.  He  came  back 
a  few  steps  and  addressed  the  men  on  the  tavern 
porch: 

"Can't  a  man  who  is  deputy  warden  of  our  state 
prison  find  something  for  amusement  better  than 
stirring  up  a  lunatic?" 

"I'm  not  trying  to  find  amusement — not  in  this 
town,"  returned  Mr.  Bangs.  "I'm  after  information. 
He  refers  me  to  you — or  so  I  take  it!" 

"What  information?" 

"There's  something  the  trouble  in  this  town  and 
I'd  like  to  know  what  it  is." 

"There  it  is,"  barked  Britt,  pointing  to  Elias. 
"That's  the  principal  trouble — a  lunatic  spreading 
lunacy  like  smallpox." 

"But  what  is  it  all  about?"  insisted  Bangs. 
"What's  this  new  excitement?" 

"I  know  nothing  about  any  excitement,  sir.  I 
attend  to  business  instead  of  gossip.  If  you  can 
make  it  your  business  to  take  this  pest  to  state 
prison,  where  he  probably  belongs  if  his  record  could 
be  dug  up,  the  town  of  Egypt  will  be  all  right  again." 

"Pharaoh,  I  have  a  message  of  comfort  for  you," 


The  Stir  of  the  Yeast 

stated  the  Prophet.  "This  night  do  I  depart  from 
the  land  of  Egypt.  I  go  and  I  shall  not  return." 

For  some  moments  Britt  did  not  find  words  with 
which  to  reply.  Then  he  mumbled  something  about 
good  riddance  and  shaking  the  dust  from  the  feet. 

"I  shall  shake  all  the  dust  from  my  feet  this  side 
of  the  border  line,"  said  Elias.  "Your  land  of  Egypt 
cannot  spare  any  soil." 

"You  are  getting  away  just  in  time,"  rasped  the 
usurer.  "I  have  been  tolerating  you  since  you  got 
back  from  jail  because  I've  been  too  busy  to  tend  to 
your  case." 

"Ah!"  commented  Elias,  mildly. 

This  subtle  humility  goaded  Britt's  wrath  more 
effectually  than  the  Prophet  could  have  prevailed 
with  resentful  retort. 

"The  next  time  it  wouldn't  have  been  a  bailable 
trespass  case.  Do  you  dare  to  tell  me  why  you  kept 
looking  in  at  the  windows  of  my  house?" 

"I  was  looking  for  the  closet." 

"What  closet?" 

"For  the  closet  where  you  keep  the  skeleton.  But 
rest  this  night  in  peace,  Pharaoh.  I  am  going  away." 

"I  can  sleep  better  for  knowing  that  you  are  out 
of  this  town." 

"Then  promise  me  that  you  will  sleep  to-night — • 
sleep  soundly.  That  thought  will  cheer  me  as  I  go 
on  my  way."  Britt  started  along,  making  no  reply. 
"I  bespeak  for  you  sleep  without  dreams,"  the 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

Prophet  called  after  him.  "Your  dreams,  Pharaoh, 
might  be  colored  with  some  of  the  realities — and  that 
would  be  bad,  very  bad  for  your  peace  of  mind/' 

Once  more  Britt  strode  back  from  the  vapors. 
"Are  you  trying  to  provoke  me  to  smash  my  fist  into 
your  face?  Are  you  trying  to  cook  up  a  blackmail 
damage  suit  by  the  advice  of  that  crook  lawyer  who 
bailed  you  out?  I'm  beginning  to  see  why  a  lawyer 
was  enough  interested  in  you  to  get  you  back  into 
this  town." 

"You  guess  shrewdly,  Pharaoh.  You  have  avoided 
the  deep  plot  against  your  wealth.  Let  the  thought 
make  you  sleep  soundly  to-night.  I'm  glad  to  make 
my  confession  and  hope  it  will  add  to  your  peace  of 
mind." 

Usial  Britt  had  appeared  in  the  door  of  his  cottage; 
he  leaned  lazily  against  the  jamb.  "It  will  be  a  fine 
night  for  sleeping,"  he  remarked,  amiably.  "This 
fog  is  sort  of  relaxing  to  the  nerves!" 

"Hold  one  moment,  Pharaoh!"  pleaded  Elias. 
The  appearance  of  the  hated  brother  had  started 
the  magnate  off  once  more.  "I  am  anxious  to  make 
your  night  a  peaceful  one.  If  you  see  me  go  away, 
knowing  that  I  shall  not  return  again  before  your 
face,  the  comfort  of  your  knowledge  will  lull  you  to 
sleep.  Wait!" 

He  stepped  to  the  door  of  the  cottage,  reached  in 
side,  and  secured  a  long  staff.  He  picked  up  from  the 
floor  a  huge  horn — a  sort  of  trump.  He  settled  the 

320 


The  Stir  of  the  Yeast 

curve  of  the  instrument  over  his  shoulder.  He  blew 
a  long  and  resounding  blast.  Then  he  marched 
away,  taking  long  strides.  He  loomed  in  the  first 
stratum  of  the  vapor,  the  radiance  from  the  open  door 
showing  him  as  an  eerie  figure;  then  the  fog  swal 
lowed  him  up.  Every  few  moments  he  sounded  a 
mighty  blast  on  the  trump.  The  blare  of  the  horn 
rolled  echoes  afar  in  the  murk.  Steadily  the  volume 
of  the  sound  decreased;  it  was  plain  that  the  Prophet 
was  traveling  at  good  speed. 

"Well,  I'll  be  dimdaddled!"  grunted  Mr.  Bangs. 
His  was  the  only  comment  on  the  departure  of 
Prophet  Elias  from  the  land  of  Egypt — that  is  to  say, 
the  only  comment  passed  by  the  group  in  front  of 
Files's  tavern.  Tasper  Britt  went  his  way  toward  the 
Harnden  home,  his  lodgings  still.  Usial  Britt  closed 
his  cottage  door.  Bangs  found  the  sticky  chill  of  the 
fog  uncomfortable.  He  and  his  helper  went  in  and 
upstairs  to  their  rooms. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE    SHADE   WHO   MEDDLED 

OOMETIME  in  the  night  Vaniman  awoke,  not 
^  suddenly,  or  with  the  sense  of  having  been 
disturbed,  but  torpidly,  with  the  feeling  that  he  had 
been  especially  deep  in  slumber.  He  recovered  his 
senses  slowly.  Therefore,  only  gradually  did  he 
become  aware  of  a  peculiar  new  condition  of  affairs 
in  the  camp.  He  wondered  idly,  trying  to  make  up 
his  mind  as  to  what  was  different  in  the  place  this 
night.  He  heard  the  "yeak-yeak"  of  the  crickets 
outside.  He  heard  nothing  else.  Then  he  under 
stood.  His  three  comrades  were  not  vocalizing  their 
slumber  in  snores.  He  had  endured  the  torture 
philosophically  night  after  night. 

His  surprise  awakened  him  fully.  He  listened,  but 
he  could  not  hear  the  sound  of  breathing.  He  rolled 
out  of  his  bunk  and  investigated.  The  light  in  the 
camp  was  merely  the  reflection  of  the  paler  hue  of  the 
night  outside,  filtering  through  the  open  door  and 
the  single  window.  But  he  perceived  that  he  was 
alone  in  the  place — the  bunks  were  empty. 

His  primitive  life  in  the  camp  had  inured  him  to 
322 


The  Shade  Who  Meddled 

new  habits;  he  had  been  removing  only  his  shoes 
and  his  coat  when  he  went  to  bed.  He  pulled  on 
his  shoes — he  did  not  bother  with  coat  or  hat.  He 
rushed  out  of  doors  and  called  aloud,  hoping  that  his 
panic  was  exaggerating  his  apprehensions.  There 
was  no  answer. 

Then  his  fears  took  definite  shape  and  sought  for 
confirmation.  He  ran  to  the  horse  hovel.  The 
animal  was  gone. 

Standing  there,  bitterly  conscious  of  what  had 
happened  and  acutely  aware  of  what  was  likely  to 
happen  with  those  three  miscreants  on  the  trail  of 
the  treasure  that  they  coveted,  Vaniman  accepted 
his  full  measure  of  responsibility.  He  did  not  ex 
cuse  the  passion  which  had  prompted  him  to  open 
his  heart  in  regard  to  Tasper  Britt.  It  was  plain 
that  they  intended  to  unlock  the  secret  of  the  money 
by  the  use  of  Britt,  going  to  any  lengths  of  brutality 
the  occasion  might  demand.  To  get  at  Britt  they 
would  be  obliged  to  invade  the  Harnden  home. 
The  thought  of  what  might  develop  from  that  sortie 
wrought  havoc  in  Vaniman's  soul!  His  fears  for 
Vona  and  her  mother  spurred  him  to  action  even 
more  effectively  than  his  conviction  that  his  own 
cause  was  lost  if  the  men  were  able  to  force  the  money 
from  Britt.  If  they  were  captured  it  would  be  like 
them  to  incriminate  Vaniman  as  an  accomplice;  if 
they  got  safely  away  with  the  treasure  there  could 
be  no  revelations  regarding  Britt's  complicity  in  its 

323 


concealment.  Britt  certainly  would  not  tell  the 
truth  about  what  had  happened  to  him;  the  fugi 
tives  would  hide  their  secret  and  their  plunder. 

If  ever  a  victim  of  devilish  circumstances  had  a 
compelling  reason  to  play  the  game,  single-handed 
and  to  the  full  limit  of  desperation,  so  Vaniman  told 
himself,  he  was  the  man. 

He  ran  from  the  hovel  to  the  peak  of  the  crag  that 
overlooked  the  village  of  Egypt.  He  beheld  below 
him  a  vast  expanse  of  grayish  white,  the  fleecy  sea 
of  the  enshrouding  vapor.  He  heard  no  sounds,  he 
saw  no  lights.  He  had  no  notion  of  the  hour.  Wagg 
had  accommodated  him  with  the  time  of  day,  when 
he  asked  for  it,  just  as  Wagg  loaned  him  a  razor  and 
doled  his  rations,  persistently  and  with  cunning 
malice  working  to  subdue  the  young  man's  sense  of 
independence. 

But  in  this  crisis  all  of  Vaniman's  courage  broke 
from  the  thralls  in  which  prison  intimidation  and  a 
fugitive's  caution  and  despair  had  bound  it  during 
the  months  of  his  disgrace. 

No  matter  how  long  the  others  had  been  on  their 
way!  They  would  be  obliged  to  go  the  long  route 
around  the  hill,  and  were  hampered  by  the  van; 
their  grim  forethought  in  taking  the  vehicle  to  trans 
port  their  booty,  as  if  they  were  sure  of  succeeding, 
was  another  element  that  wrought  upon  Vaniman's 
temper. 

As  he  was,  without  coat  or  hat,  he  leaped  from  the 
324 


The  Shade  Who  Meddled 

crag,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  jump  squarely  into  the 
middle  of  the  village  of  Egypt.  He  had  taken  no 
thought  of  the  steepness  of  the  slope  or  the  dangers 
of  descent.  He  slipped  and  rolled  for  many  rods  and 
a  rain  of  rocks  and  earth  followed  him  and  beat  upon 
him  when  he  caught  a  tree  and  clung  to  it.  He  went 
on  more  cautiously  after  that;  blood  trickled  from 
the  wounds  on  his  face  where  the  sharp  edges  of  rocks 
had  cut.  He  thrust  himself  through  the  scrub 
growth,  opening  a  way  with  the  motions  of  a  swim 
mer,  his  hands  scarred  by  the  tangled  branches. 
There  were  other  steep  places  that  were  broken  by 
terraces.  When  he  was  down  from  the  rocky  heights 
to  which  the  vapor  did  not  extend  and  had  entered 
the  confusing  mists,  he  was  obliged  to  go  more 
slowly  still,  for  he  narrowly  missed  some  nasty 
falls. 

Fierce  impatience  roweled  him.  He  would  not 
allow  himself  to  weaken  his  determination  by 
thinking  on  what  he  would  do  after  he  arrived  at  the 
Harnden  home.  He  had  set  that  as  his  goal.  Above 
other  considerations  he  placed  his  frenzied  resolution 
to  protect  Vona.  He  realized  that  he  must  protect 
her  even  from  himself — from  the  shock  she  would 
suffer  by  his  unprefaced  appearance,  this  lover  who 
would  come  like  one  risen  from  the  dead!  The 
scoundrels  who  came  seeking  Britt  in  her  home 
would  not  be  as  terrifying  as  the  visitor  who  would 
seem  to  be  a  specter — the  shade  of  the  convict  whom 

325 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

a  mountain  had  crushed,  so  said  the  official  reports 
of  the  tragic  affair. 

The  fact  that  he  was  rushing  to  meet  in  combat 
three  men,  armed  and  desperate,  worried  him  less 
than  his  anguished  concern  in  behalf  of  the  girl  who 
was  unprepared  for  his  advent  by  hint  or  warning. 

At  last  he  came  to  the  pasture  slopes  where  he  was 
more  sure  of  his  footing.  He  ran.  When  he  heard 
the  rumble  of  wheels  he  stopped  in  order  to  listen, 
trying  to  distinguish  the  location  of  the  sound  in  the 
fog,  which  made  direction  uncertain.  He  knew  it 
must  be  late.  Few  vehicles  were  moved  in  Egypt 
after  dark.  He  suspected  that  what  he  heard  was  the 
van. 

However,  he  was  puzzled  by  what  he  was  hearing. 
Either  there  were  many  vehicles,  or  else  the  echoes 
were  playing  pranks  in  the  mists  which  enwrapped 
all  objects.  Under  the  pall  of  fog  all  sounds  were 
exaggerated.  To  right  and  left,  near  at  hand  and 
far  away  he  heard  the  rumble  of  wheels,  the  creak  of 
whiffletrees,  and  the  plodding  feet  of  animals. 

He  heard,  too,  an  occasional,  dust-choked  bleat 
or  a  plaintive  lowing. 

But  a  sound  that  was  repeated  regularly  he  could 
not  understand,  nor  could  he  determine  the  direc 
tion  from  which  it  came.  It  was  sound  diffused 
like  the  fog  itself.  It  was  mellowed  by  distance. 
He  recognized  the  notes  as  the  winding  of  some  sort 
of  a  horn  or  trump. 

326 


The  Shade  Who  Meddled 

Vaniman's  ears  were  telling  him  nothing  definite. 
He  hurried  on  down  the  hill  so  that  he  might  make  his 
eyes  serve  him  at  closer  range.  In  order  to  see  what 
was  going  on  in  the  highway  he  was  obliged  to  go 
close  to  the  wall  which  bordered  it;  though  the  fog 
hindered,  it  helped,  for  in  the  obscurity  he  was  well 
hidden  among  the  bushes. 

First  he  saw  a  hayrack  go  past.  Two  horses  drew 
it.  It  was  piled  high  with  household  goods,  and 
women  and  children  were  on  the  top  of  the  load. 
Two  cows  were  hitched  on  behind.  By  the  time  the 
fog  had  hidden  this  convey  ince  a  wagon  of  the 
jigger  type  rumbled  past.  It  was  as  heavily  loaded 
as  the  hayrack.  He  heard  other  vehicles  coming — 
he  heard  still  others  far  down  the  road  on  their  way. 

He  was  urged  by  a  furious  desire  to  shout — to  ask 
what  all  this  meant.  But  he  did  not  dare  to  run 
such  risks.  There  was  a  wall  between  him  and  the 
rest  of  humanity  until  his  sorry  affairs  could  be 
straightened. 

The  highway  gave  him  a  clew  as  to  his  where 
abouts;  he  had  been  lost  in  that  wallow  of  vapor, 
unable  to  distinguish  north  from  south.  He  retreated 
from  the  wall  and  stooped  as  he  ran  along  behind 
the  screen  of  the  wayside  alders.  He  had  an  affair 
of  his  own  to  look  after,  no  matter  what  the  rest  of 
Egypt  was  doing. 

In  spite  of  his  haste,  he  carefully  scrutinized  each 
item  in  this  singular  parade  of  the  night,  keeping^ 
22  327 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

near  enough  to  the  road  for  that  purpose.  It  seemed 
like  some  sort  of  a  migration.  He  wondered  how 
comprehensive  it  was.  He  wanted  to  be  sure  that 
nobody  in  whom  he  was  especially  interested  passed 
him  without  his  knowledge.  There  was  every  kind 
of  an  equipage  that  would  convey  people  or  property. 
Nobody  was  talking.  So  far  as  was  possible,  the 
human  beings  in  the  procession  seemed  to  be  trying 
to  make  a  secret  of  the  affair.  Mothers  hushed  their 
children  when  the  youngsters  chattered  or  whimpered. 
Men  merely  whispered  commands  to  the  horses. 

All  at  once  Vaniman  beheld  the  van.  It  was  hold 
ing  a  place  in  the  parade  and  was  moving  with  the 
decorous  slowness  of  the  other  vehicles.  On  the 
driver's  seat  with  Wagg  were  the  two  convicts.  The 
comrade  whom  they  had  deserted  waited  until  it 
had  passed;  then  he  ran  out  into  the  road  and  ducked 
along  close  to  the  rear  of  it. 

They  were  coming  away  from  the  village  of  Egypt. 
To  what  extent  had  they  succeeded  in  their  rascally 
errand?  What  burden  were  they  conveying?  Vani 
man  could  not  curb  his  wild  desire  to  find  out.  He 
had  had  plenty  of  experience  in  dodging  into  that 
van.  He  lifted  the  flap  and  leaped  in.  There  was 
black  darkness  in  there.  He  put  out  his  hand  cau 
tiously.  It  touched  a  man.  The  move  that  the 
man  made  was  a  sort  of  fruitless  struggle,  indicating 
that  his  limbs  were  secured  in  some  way. 

Vaniman,  in  that  crisis  in  his  affairs,  was  not 
328 


The  Shade  Who  Meddled 

affected  by  squeamishness.  He  used  his  hands.  He 
immediately  discovered  that  the  man  was  tied  up 
hand  and  foot  with  torn  cloth,  strips  of  sheets  or 
something  of  the  kind.  The  man's  only  apparel  was 
a  nightshirt.  Around  his  neck,  so  Vaniman's  touch 
told  him,  was  a  leather  cord  to  which  keys  were 
attached.  Tasper  Britt  had  told  his  cashier  that  he 
always  carried  his  keys  to  bed  with  him  in  that 
fashion,  and  he  had  advised  Vaniman  to  employ  the 
same  caution. 

This  prisoner  in  the  van  was  certainly  the  mag 
nate  of  Egypt.  Vaniman  found  that  a  towel  was 
bound  tightly  across  the  bearded  mouth;  the  young 
man  even  ran  his  hand  over  the  bald  pate,  now 
divested  of  its  toupee. 

There  was  no  gold  in  the  van.  Vaniman  made 
sure  of  that  after  he  had  satisfied  himself  as  to  the 
identity  of  Britt. 

While  the  young  man  was  endeavoring  to  steady 
his  whirling  thoughts,  striving  to  plan  some  course 
of  action  by  which  he  could  turn  the  situation  to  his 
personal  benefit,  his  attention  became  taken  up  in 
another  quarter.  Through  the  trap  he  heard  the 
voice  of  the  short  man.  "Quick!  Off  the  road. 
Nobody's  in  sight!'* 

The  van  lurched  and  the  front  of  it  dipped  with  a 
violence  that  drove  Vaniman  and  Britt  against  the 
end.  Up  came  the  front  and  the  rear  sagged.  Then 
the  van  went  bumping  and  swaying  over  uneven 

329 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

ground.  The  claw-clash  of  the  branches  of  trees 
against  the  sides  informed  Vaniman  that  the  men 
had  driven  into  the  woods. 

When  the  vehicle  halted,  the  young  man  crawled 
forward  and  huddled  down  into  as  compact  a  ball 
as  he  could  make  of  himself. 

He  heard  the  thre"  men  dismounting.  "I'll  tell 
the  world  that  this  is  a  handy  night  for  us,  whatever 
it  is  that's  going  on  in  this  burg!"  It  was  the  voice 
of  that  ever-ready  spokesman,  the  short  man. 
"There  would  have  been  a  head  at  every  window  if 
we  had  been  obliged  to  go  teaming  around  all  by 
ourselves,  in  the  night.  But  they  wouldn't  have  no 
ticed  a  couple  of  giraffes  and  a  hippopotamus  in  that 
procession." 

"I  couldn't  see  that  they  even  paid  any  attention 
to  those  women  squalling  upstairs  when  we  did  the 
job,"  was  the  tall  man's  opinion.  "Handy  night, 
say  you?  Why,  that  man  we  braced  up  to  and  asked 
where  was  Britt's  boarding  house,  he  seemed  to  have 
so  much  of  his  own  business  on  his  mind  that  he 
wasn't  wondering  a  mite  what  our  business  with 
Britt  might  be." 

"Get  busy!"  said  the  other  convict.  "That 
business  is  only  just  beginning." 

There  was  a  stir  of  feet. 

"Hold  on!"  It  was  the  voice  of  Wagg,  mumbling 
cautiously.  "Tie  your  handkerchiefs  over  your 
faces  like  I'm  doing." 

330 


The  Shade  Who  Meddled 

"Right!"  the  short  man  agreed.  "Always  leave 
'em  guessing  when  you  say  good-by!" 

A  few  moments  later  Wagg  lifted  the  flap;  Vani- 
man  saw  him  outlined  against  the  fog.  The  con 
victs  reached  in  and  pulled  Britt  out,  and  the  flap 
was  dropped. 

"Look  out!"  the  short  man  warned.  "Loosen  that 
towel  only  a  little  and  hold  your  clutch  on  his  gullet, 
bo!  We're  not  any  too  far  from  that  road,  and  we'll 
understand  the  good  news  if  he'll  only  whisper  it." 

After  a  few  moments  he  went  on.  "Man,  we've 
got  you — got  you  foul!  You  know  where  that  gold 
coin  is.  Shut  up!  No  argument.  You  tell  us  where 
it  is.  Then  you  won't  get  hurt.  If  you  don't  tell  us, 
you  will  get  hurt.  Get  busy  with  your  mouth!" 

In  spite  of  his  abhorrence  at  this  method  of  ex 
torting  the  truth,  Vaniman  was  conscious  of  a  feeling 
of  comradeship  with  the  three  rapscallions  at  that 
moment.  They  were  merely  seeking  loot.  He  was 
seeking  the  re-establishment  of  his  honor  and  his 
love.  He  waited  in  the  tense  silence,  straining  every 
nerve  to  hear.  No  sound  came  to  him.  He  won 
dered  whether  Britt,  cowed,  was  whispering  the 
information. 

"Get  busy,  I  tell  you!" 

Evidently  the  prisoner  was  obstinate. 

Minute  after  minute  the  short  man  labored  with 
the  captive,  the  snarl  in  his  insisting  voice  deepening 
into  the  diapason  of  malevolent  threat. 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

But  Britt  said  no  word. 

Vaniman,  feeling  that  all  the  prospects  of  his  life 
were  at  stake,  decided  to  play  a  waiting  game.  In 
spite  of  their  culpable  motive,  the  men  outside  were 
serving  as  his  aides  in  the  crucial  moment.  They 
were  demanding  information  which  the  usurer  owed 
to  the  innocent. 

"Oh,  very  well!"  said  the  master  of  ceremonies. 
"We'll  go  on  with  the  rest  of  the  program,  then. 
One  of  you  bring  that  side  lamp  and  light  it.  And 
help  me  get  this  towel  tighter.  He's  going  to  try 
some  squalling." 

Vaniman  saw  the  flare  of  the  lamp  past  the  edge 
of  the  flap.  He  set  his  teeth  and  decided  that  he 
would  not  interfere.  When  he  heard  sounds  which, 
muffled  in  the  towel,  were  like  the  whines  and  grunts 
of  a  tortured  animal,  he  stiffened  his  determination 
to  await  the  issue. 

"Now  loosen  the  gag  and  let  him  talk!  I  reckon  he 
has  found  something  to  say." 

Vaniman  heard  louder  groans.  But  Britt  gave 
out  no  information. 

"Back  with  the  talk-tickler!  Hold  it  closer! 
The  same  foot!  We've  got  a  good  start  on  that  one." 

The  man  in  the  van  felt  his  gorge  rising,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  the  victim  was  a  relentless  persecutor 
of  others.  The  stifled  accents  of  agony  were  dreadful. 

After  a  time  the  short  man  spoke.  Into  three 
words  he  put  the  venom  of  a  malice  that  would  not 

332 


The  Shade  Who  Meddled 

be  gainsaid.  "Now,  damn  you!"  His  tone  hinted 
at  no  regret  for  what  had  gone  on  before;  it  suggested 
that  there  was  more  to  come;  it  was  compelling  de 
mand  that  the  captive  should  employ  the  respite 
that  was  offered. 

Britt  began  to  babble;  there  was  a  suggestion  of 
partial  mania  in  his  tones.  Vaniman  could  not 
understand  what  he  was  saying,  but  the  sharp  ques 
tions  that  were  interjected  by  the  manager  of  the 
affair — the  queries  that  gimleted  for  additional  in 
formation — suggested  the  line  of  confession  that  Britt 
was  giving  forth. 

"Yes — in  the  bank!  Where  in  the  bank?  ...  I 
heard  that,  but  where?  ...  In  the  basement,  hey? 
Well,  where  in  the  basement?  .  .  .  Concrete  block 
eh  ?  ...  Come  across!  .  .  .  Along  here  with  that  lamp, 
bo!  ...  Exactly  where  is  that  block?" 

Through  Vaniman  there  flooded  something  that 
was  almost  a  delirium  of  derring  do.  He  did  not 
know  just  what  he  would  be  able  to  perform — one 
against  three.  He  did  not  dare  to  wait  for  any 
further  developments  in  the  thing.  He  was  pos 
sessed  by  the  frantic  fear  that  the  knaves  would  use 
their  information  and  beat  him  to  the  treasure. 
That  the  money  was  somewhere  in  the  basement  of 
Britt  Block  was  enough  for  him  at  that  juncture. 
He  decided  that  the  time  for  stealth  was  past.  He 
would  proclaim  the  news.  He  would  tell  his  story. 
He  would  trust  the  case  to  the  fair  judgment  of  men. 

333 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

He  scrambled  forward  in  the  van  and  made  a 
hasty  survey  of  the  situation.  Britt  was  stretched 
on  the  ground.  The  two  convicts  were  kneeling  side 
by  side,  bending  over  their  captive,  and  the  short 
man  was  still  plying  Britt  with  questions.  Their 
backs  were  toward  the  man  in  the  van.  Wagg  was 
kneeling  at  Britt's  feet,  holding  the  carriage  lamp, 
shielding  the  flare  with  a  curved  palm. 

The  posture  of  all  of  them  invited  the  attack  that 
Vaniman  instantly  decided  on.  He  could  not  hope 
that  he  would  be  offered  a  better  opportunity. 

He  flung  aside  the  flap,  he  leaped  from  the  opening. 
Spreading  his  knees,  he  landed  on  the  convicts,  a 
knee  on  each  back,  and  then  he  brought  his  hands 
toward  each  other  with  all  his  strength,  cuffing  their 
skulls  together  with  a  resounding  crack.  They  fell 
across  Britt.  Vaniman  was  on  his  feet  while  Wagg 
was  rising;  the  guard's  slow  mind  was  operating 
ineptly  on  his  muscles.  The  young  man  felled  Wagg 
with  a  vicious  blow  under  the  ear. 

The  convicts,  knocked  senseless,  were  on  their 
faces,  pinning  Britt  to  the  ground.  The  butts  of  the 
bulldog  revolvers  in  their  hip  pockets  were  exposed. 
Vaniman  snatched  out  the  weapons.  He  aimed  one 
of  the  revolvers  at  Wagg,  who  had  struggled  to  his 
knees.  "Your  knife!  Throw  it  to  me!  Quick!" 

Under  the  menace  of  the  gun  Wagg  obeyed. 

The  young  man  pocketed  the  guns  for  a  moment. 
He  rolled  the  reviving  convicts  off  Britt  and  slashed 

334 


The  Shade  Who  Meddled 

the  prisoner's  bonds  and  tore  the  towel  from  his  face. 
It  was  in  his  mind  to  force  Britt  to  crawl  into  the 
van.  He  was  regarding  Britt  as  his  chief  witness  and 
principal  exhibit  in  the  exposure  he  proposed  to  lay 
before  the  people  of  Egypt.  In  the  back  of  Vani- 
man's  head  there  may  have  been  some  sort  of  con 
sideration  for  the  man  who  had  ruined  him — scruples 
against  leaving  him  with  those  renegades  who  had 
tortured  him.  However,  the  young  man  was  con 
scious  of  the  more  compelling  motive — to  carry  Britt 
along  with  him,  to  force  Britt,  before  the  eyes  of 
men,  to  uncover  the  hiding  nlace  of  the  treasure. 

He  trained  his  guns  on  tne  three  men,  backing 
away  from  them  in  order  to  have  them  at  a  safe  dis 
tance.  Britt  was  on  his  knees.  He  was  staring  at 
Vaniman  with  unblinking  eyes  in  which  unmis 
takable  mania^was  flaming.  The  attack  on  him  in 
his  bed  that  night,  the  blow  that  had  stunned  him 
so  that  the  assailants  might  tie  him  up,  the  ride  in 
the  strange  conveyance,  the  dreadful  uncertainty  of 
what  it  was  all  about — these  matters  had  wrought 
cruelly  upon  the  victim's  wits.  The  torture  by  the 
flame  had  further  unsettled  his  mind.  And  at  that 
moment,  coming  down  from  the  heavens,  so  it 
seemed,  a  dead  man  had  appeared  to  him. 

Britt's  recent  experience  had  rendered  him  in 
capable  of  surveying  the  thing  from  a  normal  view 
point.  He  saw  the  man  whom  he  had  disgraced  by 
plot  and  perjury,  the  man  who  was  buried  under 

335 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

tons  of  rock,  so  the  state  had  officially  reported,  the 
man  to  whose  return  after  seven  years  of  punish 
ment  Britt  had  been  looking  forward  with  dread. 
He  had  slept  more  peacefully  since  that  tragedy  had 
been  enacted  at  the  prison.  Britt  was  not  admitting 
that  this  was  a  human  being  in  the  flesh.  Already 
partially  crazed  by  the  manhandling  from  which  he 
had  suffered,  he  peered  at  this  apparition,  a  mystic 
figure  in  the  aura  of  the  fog — the  shade  of  Frank 
Vaniman,  so  his  frantic  belief  insisted — and  leaped 
up,  screaming  like  a  man  who  had  gone  stark,  staring 
mad. 

Before  Vaniman  had  time  to  issue  a  command 
Britt  ran  away  along  the  lane  by  which  the  van  had 
entered  the  wood.  He  was  an  extraordinary  figure 
in  flight.  His  night  robe  fluttered  behind  as  he  ran. 
For  the  most  part  he  hopped  on  one  foot;  he  yelped 
with  pain  wrhen  he  was  obliged  to  set  the  blistered 
foot  on  the  ground  in  order  to  recover  his  balance. 

Vaniman  did  not  stay  to  threaten  the  three  men. 
He  had  their  weapons  and  he  did  not  fear  them. 

He  ran  after  Britt. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  FOX  WHO  WAS  RUN  TO  EARTH 

\  /AMMAN'S  first  impulse  was  to  overtake  the 

*     fugitive.     He  wanted  to  have  Britt  in  his  grip, 

holding  to  him,  forcing  him  to  confess  and  restore. 

But  when  Britt  reached  the  highway  and  started 
in  the  direction  of  the  village,  saner  second  thought 
controlled  the  pursuer.  Britt  had  become  a  self- 
operating  proposition;  Vaniman  felt  that,  although 
sudden  fright  were  spurring  Britt,  a  fear  more  in 
herently  characteristic  was  pulling  the  usurer  on  his 
race  to  the  village — he  had  betrayed  the  hiding  place 
of  hard  cash !  He  was  rushing  to  protect  it.  By  run 
ning  to  the  treasure  Britt  would  be  betraying  some 
thing  of  more  moment  to  Vaniman  than  gold.  The 
young  man  held  his  distance,  keeping  the  quarry  in 
sight,  running  a  few  feet  behind  Britt  in  the  fog. 

In  the  mist  the  two  were  like  the  flitting  figures 
of  a  fantasy.  The  road  was  still  well  filled  with  wains 
and  pedestrians,  following  after  those  who  had  gone 
on  ahead.  The  wains  stopped;  the  pedestrians 
halted  and  gaped  and  gasped.  Women  cried  out 
shrilly.  Vaniman  and  Britt  furnished  an  uncanny 

337 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

spectacle.  The  eyes  which  beheld  them  saw  them 
only  for  an  instant;  the  fog's  curtain  allowed  each 
observer  scant  time  to  determine  what  these  figures 
were.  Britt,  hairless,  his  face  sickly  white,  his  night 
gear  fluttering,  was  as  starkly  bodeful  as  if  he  were 
newly  risen  from  the  grave,  garbed  in  death's  cere 
ments.  Vaniman's  presence  on  the  scene  added  to 
the  terrifying  illusion  produced  by  Britt. 

This  pursuer  had  been  officially  proclaimed  dead. 
They  who  beheld  believed  they  saw  a  dead  man. 
The  face  was  smutched  with  blood.  The  eyes  were 
wide  and  were  set  straight  ahead.  Vaniman  was 
taking  no  chances  on  losing  the  man  whom  he  was 
chasing. 

After  the  first  thrill  of  horror,  wild  curiosity  stung 
the  men  of  Egypt.  They  dropped  the  reins,  those 
who  were  driving  horses,  and  joined  those  who  had 
turned  in  their  tracks  and  were  following  the  phan 
toms  of  the  night. 

In  this  fashion,  with  the  rout  and  rabble  behind 
and  Vaniman  close  on  his  heels,  Tasper  Britt  arrived 
at  Britt  Block — and  even  the  statue  in  its  niche 
seemed  to  goggle  with  amazed  stare. 

Britt  did  not  stop  to  lift  the  loop  of  the  leather 
thong  over  his  head;  with  a  fierce  tug  he  broke  the 
cord.  He  unlocked  the  door  and  rushed  in. 

After  Vaniman  followed,  the  men  outside  hesi 
tated  only  momentarily.  Their  numbers  gave  them 
courage.  They  crowded  into  the  corridor.  Some  of 

338 


The  Fox  Who  Was  Run  to  Earth 

them  were  carrying  the  lanterns  which  they  had  used 
to  light  the  way  of  the  procession  of  carts. 

Britt  did  not  enter  his  office;  he  ran  the  length  of 
the  corridor  and  flung  open  the  door  which  led  to  the 
basement.  The  pursuers  kept  on  at  the  heels  of 
Vaniman.  But  they  took  the  precaution  to  allow 
the  men  with  the  lanterns  to  go  ahead. 

Britt  went  frantically  at  his  work,  paying  no 
attention  to  anybody.  In  fact,  he  did  not  seem  to 
realize  that  others  were  present.  There  was  a  heap 
of  furnace  wood  in  one  corner  of  the  basement;  he 
began  to  heave  that  wood  in  all  directions.  One  of 
the  lanterns  was  smashed  by  a  billet.  The  men  in 
the  place  were  obliged  to  dodge  the  flying  sticks. 
Britt  worked  as  if  he  were  alone  in  the  place.  He 
talked  to  himself.  "  Demons  are  after  it.  Demons 
and  dead  men!  The  demons  sha'n't  have  it.  I  told 
'em  where  it  was.  But  I'll  take  it  away.  The  de 
mons  brought  hell  fire  to  make  me  tell.  They 
brought  a  dead  man.  But  they  sha'n't  have  it." 

"He's  gone  raving  crazy!"  cried  an  onlooker  in 
shrill  tones. 

"Come  on,  men!  Let's  catch  him  and  tie  him 
up,"  suggested  somebody  else. 

But  they  were  prevented  by  fears  which  were 
made  effective  by  influences  which  did  not  seem  to 
partake  wholly  of  human  qualities. 

In  their  concentrated  interest  in  the  active  Britt 
they  had  been  disregarding  Vaniman,  who  was  re- 

339 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

straining  himself,  standing  outside  the  radiance  of 
the  lanterns. 

The  next  instant  he  leaped  into  the  sight  of  all 
of  them.  He  stood  between  them  and  Britt.  He 
pulled  his  weapons.  His  blood-spotted  face  seemed 
a  vision  of  the  unreal;  but  the  guns  were  unmis 
takably  the  agents  which  a  human  being  would  em 
ploy  in  an  emergency.  And  there  was  a  businesslike 
click  in  his  tone.  "Stand  back,  the  whole  of  you! 
This  is  a  show-down.  Tasper  Britt  is  confessing 
that  he  is  a  thief  and  a  liar.  Use  your  eyes." 

They  cowered  back  from  the  threat  of  the  guns 
and  did  use  their  eyes.  They  saw  Britt  uncover  a 
section  of  the  basement  floor  of  concrete.  They 
saw  him  locate  an  iron  ring  that  was  cunningly  con 
cealed  under  a  little  square  of  concrete  which  he 
pried  up  with  his  finger  nails.  He  tugged  at  the  ring 
and  lifted  a  slab.  The  men  with  the  lanterns  raised 
them  high.  The  light  glinted  on  gold — gold  coins  in 
bulk,  naked  of  sacks. 

A  man  had  come  thrusting  through  the  crowd  in 
the  basement,  hurrying  in  from  the  outside.  It  was 
Squire  Amos  Hexter.  It  was  hard  to  determine  from 
his  expression  which  spectacle  he  found  the  more 
astounding — Frank  Vaniman  at  bay,  in  the  flesh,  or 
the  gold  coins  that  Tasper  Britt  was  dipping  from 
the  pit  in  the  basement  floor — dipping  with  both 
hands,  sluicing  them  upon  the  concrete  in  jingling 
showers. 

340 


The  Fox  Who  Was  Run  to  Earth 

Squire  Hexter  did  find  his  voice.  "Good  God!" 
he  shouted. 

"God  is  good!"  said  Vaniman.  He  threw  the 
weapons  into  a  far  corner  of  the  basement.  "Squire 
Hexter,  take  charge  of  this  thing.  Here  are  plenty 
of  witnesses." 

The  Squire  went  forward  slowly.  His  lips  moved 
without  the  sound  of  spoken  word.  He  set  the 
clutch  of  his  hands  on  Vaniman's  arms.  He 
stared  long  and  earnestly  into  the  young  man's 
eyes. 

"I  can't  talk  now,"  Vaniman  quavered. 

And  the  Squire  seemed  to  know,  out  of  his  sym 
pathy  with  men,  that  there  was  something  for  that 
case  better  than  words.  He  put  his  arms  around 
Vaniman  and  kissed  him.  "Come  along  home  with 
me  to  Xoa,  sonny." 

Britt  struggled  to  his  feet,  and  groaned  when  his 
weight  came  on  the  tortured  flesh.  He  looked  about 
as  if  searching  for  something.  "A  basket!"  he 
muttered.  "I  must  find  a  basket." 

He  started  forward  and  saw  Vaniman  in  the  hook 
of  the  Squire's  arm.  Whether  increase  of  his  mania 
or  some  sort  of  remorse  prompted  his  utterance  was 
not  clear.  "Take  it  back  to  Tophet  with  you!  I 
didn't  mean  to  keep  it.  I  didn't  know  how  to  give 
it  back.  I  took  it  so  that  they'd  pen  you  up,  out 
from  under  my  feet.  But  even  a  thousand  tons  of 
rock  can't  pen  you.  I'm  done  trying.  If  this  is 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

what  you're  chasing  me  for,  take  it!     Keep  away 
from  me." 

He  went  through  the  crowd,  beating  his  way  with 
his  fists. 

"Shall  we  hold  him,  Squire?"  called  a  man. 

"Let  him  alone  for  just  now!  He  can't  go  far  in 
that  shape.  We'll  attend  to  him  after  a  little  while." 
The  Squire  pulled  himself  together  with  the  air  of 
one  who  saw  that  the  situation  needed  a  commander. 
He  singled  responsible  men  from  the  crowd  and 
ordered  them  to  take  charge  of  the  coin. 

"Come  away  with  me,"  he  urged  Vaniman.  "This 
is  no  place  for  our  talk." 

When  they  walked  out  of  the  building  they  saw 
no  sign  of  Britt.  "We'll  let  him  alone,"  insisted  the 
Squire.  "There'll  be  no  use  in  asking  him  questions 
till  he's  in  his  right  mind.  He'll  probably  get  back 
his  wits  when  he  gets  back  his  clothes." 

"Squire  Hexter,  what's  happening  in  this  town 
to-night.  What — " 

"All  in  good  time,  sonny!  Let's  get  home  where 
Xoa  is." 

There  were  lights  in  the  Squire's  house.  In  spite 
of  the  fog,  Vaniman  perceived  that  there  was  a  gray 
hint  of  dawn  in  the  heavens.  More  acutely  was  he 
wondering  what  this  universal  vigil  in  Egypt  sig 
nified.  But  reaction  had  overtaken  him.  He  was 
in  the  mood  to  accept  commands  of  any  sort.  He 
walked  on  in  silence. 

342 


The  Fox  Who  Was  Run  to  Earth 

"You  must  stay  out  here  till  I  break  the  thing  to 
Xoa!" 

The  young  man  clung  to  the  trellis  of  the  porch 
for  a  few  moments  until  Xoa  flung  wide  the  door. 
Supported  in  her  embrace,  he  staggered  into  the 
sitting  room. 

"Cry,  sonny!  Cry  a  little,"  the  Squire  adjured 
him.  "  Put  your  head  on  Xoa's  knee  and  have  it  out. 
It  will  tide  you  over  till  your  own  mother  can  com 
fort  you." 

But  wild  desire  for  knowledge  burned  the  sudden 
tears  out  of  Vaniman's  eyes.  "Where  is  Vona? 
What  is  happening?" 

"We'll  see  to  it  mighty  quick  that  Vona  knows, 
sonny.  The  right  word  must  get  to  her  in  the  right 
way.  Mother  will  know  how.  Mother,  you'd  better 
attend  to  it." 

She  agreed  with  that  suggestion,  but  first  she 
brought  a  basin  and  water  and  soft  cloths  and  so 
licitously  made  more  presentable  the  young  man's 
face. 

WThile  she  ministered  to  him  he  told  them  what 
had  been  happening  in  his  affairs. 

"You're  alive.  That's  the  main  point.  Now, 
Xoa,"  urged  the  Squire,  "go  to  Vona  before  some 
lunatic  tells  her  something  to  scare  her  to  death!" 

The  good  woman  hastened  away,  her  smile  reas 
suring  the  lover. 

For  some  time  the  Squire  regarded  Vaniman^with 
23  343 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

an  expression  into  which  some  of  the  old  notary's 
whimsical  humor  began  to  creep.  "So  it  struck  you, 
did  it,  that  you  had  dropped  back  into  town  on  a 
lively  night?  I  was  expecting  quite  a  general  stir, 
myself.  But  I'll  confess  that  the  thing  hit  me  as 
livelier  than  what  I  had  looked  for  when  I  was  sitting 
here  and  heard  a  man  holler  outside  that  your  ghost 
had  chased  Tasper  Britt  into  his  office.  You  see,  the 
plan  was  not  to  have  Tasper  disturbed  by  any  hu 
man  beings  this  night.  We  all  hoped  he  would  sleep 
sound.  Everybody  proposed  to  tiptoe  when  passing 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Harnden  house.  But  to 
have  a  ghost  come  and  chase  Tasper  around  town 
was  wholly  outside  the  calculations  of  the  human 
beings  in  Egypt  this  night." 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  see  any  joke  hidden  in  this 
proposition,  Squire,"  the  young  man  complained. 

"Son,  it's  a  joke,  but  it's  so  big  and  ironic  that 
only  one  of  those  gods  on  high  Olympus  is  big  enough 
and  broad-minded  enough  to  be  able  to  laugh  at  it. 
Some  day  the  folks  of  this  town  will  be  able  to  look 
back  on  this  night  and  laugh,  I  do  hope.  But  not 
now.  They're  too  much  wrought  up.  They're  too 
busy.  Hold  on!  I'm  going  to  let  another  man  ex 
plain  the  thing.  He's  in  a  position  to  pass  out  infor 
mation  more  to  the  point  than  anything  I  can  hand 
you.  I'll  simply  say  this.  When  you  saw  what  you 
beheld  in  the  fog  this  night,  you  were  seeing  a  revised 
version  of  the  Book  of  Exodus  acted  out  in  real  life. 

344 


The  Fox  Who  Was  Run  to  Earth 

The  Children  of  Israel,  of  this  day  and  date,  are 
departing  from  the  land  of  Pharaoh,  current  edition. 
With  their  flocks  and  their  possessions,  their  wives 
and  their  children,  they  are  on  their  way  to  The 
Promised  Land.  And  now,  if  you'll  step  into  the 
parlor  with  me  I'll  introduce  you  to  the  promiser." 
Vaniman  followed. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE    PROMISED   LAND 

THERE  was  a  big  man  in  the  parlor,  a  hearty- 
looking  man,  manifestly  of  the  metropolis, 
patently  of  the  "good  sport"  type.  He  was  walking 
up  and  down.  With  his  tweed  knickerbockers,  his 
belted  jacket,  his  diamonds  in  his  scarf  and  on  his 
ringers,  he  was  such  an  odd  figure  in  the  homely  sur 
roundings  that  he  produced  on  Vaniman  a  surprise 
effect.  The  young  man  surveyed  the  stranger  with 
the  interest  one  might  take  in  a  queer  animal  in  a 
circus  van;  the  big  man's  restless  pacing  suggested 
a  caged  creature.  But  he  took  not  the  least  interest 
in  Vaniman,  an  unkempt  individual  without  a  coat. 

"Hexter,  what  did  happen,  anyway?  I  thought 
you  were  never  coming  back.  I  had  a  good  mind  to 
chase  you  up,  though  it  would  be  poor  judgment  for 
me  to  show  myself  to-night." 

"This  has  happened!"  The  Squire  pointed  to 
Vaniman.  The  big  man  cocked  an  inquiring  eye 
brow,  looking  at  the  Squire's  exhibit  with  indiffer 
ence.  "Colonel,  this  is  Frank  Vaniman.  You 
know  all  about  the  case!" 

346 


The  Promised  Land 

The  stranger  stepped  back  so  hastily  that  he 
knocked  over  a  chair. 

"Know  about  the  case!"  he  bawled.  "No,  I 
don't  know  about  it,  either,  if  this  is  the  man  the 
mountain  fell  on — or  whatever  it  was  that  hap 
pened.  What  kind  of  con  is  this  you're  giving  me, 
Hexter?" 

"This  is  the  man,  sir.  What  I  mean  by  saying 
you  know  about  the  case  is  that  you  have  agreed 
with  me  that  an  innocent  man  was  railroaded  into 
prison,  after  I  gave  you  the  facts.  He  is  out  through 
a  trick  worked  by  a  prison  guard.  He'll  give  us 
the  details  later.  Just  now  it's  more  important  for 
you  to  be  told  that  Tasper  Britt,  by  his  own  acts, 
has  confessed  that  he  robbed  the  Egypt  Trust 
Company." 

"Well,  I'll  be  damnationed!"  blurted  the  big  man, 
with  such  whole-souled  astonishment  that  the  mode 
of  expression  was  pardonable.  "And  I  thought  that 
plenty  and  enough  was  happening  in  this  town  for 
one  night!" 

"Frank,  this  is  Colonel  Norman  Wincott.  He 
has  well  understood  your  case  from  what  I  have  told 
him.  Now  he  will  understand  better.  Colonel, 
won't  you  allow  Frank's  story  to  wait?  He  is  in  a 
dreadfully  nervous  state,  poor  chap.  And  I'm  afraid 
he'll  go  crazy  on  our  hands  if  he  isn't  enlightened 
right  away  about  what  is  going  on  here  to-night." 

Colonel  Wincott  strode  across  the  room  and 
347 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

slapped  Vaniman  cordially  on  the  shoulder  with  one 
hand  and  pumphandled  with  the  other.  "Plenty  of 
men  have  escaped  from  state  prison.  There's  no 
special  novelty  about  a  story  of  that  sort.  But  let 
me  tell  you  that  I'm  the  only  man  in  the  world  who 
has  ever  put  over  a  proposition  such  as  this  one  that 
is  on  the  docket  right  here  and  now.  I  don't  blame 
you  for  being  interested."  It  was  plain  that  the 
colonel  entertained  no  mean  opinion  of  himself  and 
his  projects.  "All  is,  Vaniman,  I  hope  your  making 
a  two-ring  affair  of  it  hasn't  taken  the  attention  of 
the  folks  off  the  main  show." 

"It  has  only  added  to  the  general  effect,"  affirmed 
the  Squire.  "It's  a  clincher.  Folks  don't  care  now 
because  Tasper  Britt  is  awake.  He  has  got  plenty 
of  business  of  his  own  to  attend  to  without  calling 
in  sheriffs  to  slap  on  attachments." 

"Very  good!  The  easier  the  better,"  returned 
Colonel  Wincott.  "But  when  I  hired  you  to  look 
after  the  law  part,  Hexter,  I  reckoned  you  could 
counter  every  crack  he  made.  Sit  down,  Vaniman!" 
He  picked  up  the  chair  he  had  overturned  and  took 
it  for  himself.  "You  have  seen  the  parade,  eh,  some 
of  it?" 

"I  saw  a  great  deal  of  it,  sir." 

"And  you  don't  know  where  it's  headed  for,  eh?" 

"No." 

The  colonel  leaned  back  and  regarded  the  Squire 
with  the  satisfied  contentment  of  a  cat  who  had 

348 


The  Promised  Land 

tucked  way  the  last  morsel  of  the  canary.  Then  he 
winked  at  Vaniman.  "Young  man,  did  you  ever 
hear  of  Wincott's  Pure  Rye?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Glad  of  it!  Hope  you  never  were  familiar  with 
any  other  brands.  However,  enough  men  did  know 
about  it  in  those  dear,  damp  days  beyond  recall  to 
make  me  independent  of  the  pawnshop,  to  say  the 
least.  And,  having  cleaned  up  a  good  pot  with 
whisky  running  down  men's  gullets,  I  reckoned  I'd 
see  what  I  could  do  with  water  running  downhill. 
Do  you  get  me  at  all  so  far?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Didn't  suppose  you  would.  I'm  only  shuffling 
the  deck.  Now  for  the  deal!  Awhile  ago  I  came  up 
into  this  state  from  the  South  and  I  bought  the 
unorganized  township  that  bounds  this  town  on 
the  north.  It  had  gone  begging  for  a  buyer  because 
it's  mostly  pond  and  water  power.  But  it's  what  I 
wanted.  And,  having  bought  it,  I  used  my  check 
book  and  got  some  good  lobbyists  on  the  job  and  I 
got  a  conditional  charter  from  the  legislature.  That 
is  to  say,  it  becomes  a  town  charter  automatically  the 
moment  I  can  report  a  certain  number  of  inhabitants 
— not  mere  men,  but  families,  regularly  settled.  Do 
you  see?" 

"I  surely  do  begin  to  see,  Colonel  Wincott." 

"Vaniman,  if  I  had  gone  to  the  cities  and  adver 
tised  for  settlers,  what  kind  would  I  have  got? 

349 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

Probably  only  a  bunch  of  aliens  dissatisfied  already; 
if  they  weren't  sore  on  general  conditions  I  couldn't 
coax  'em  to  move.  And  aliens  are  always  moving. 
I  wanted  some  of  the  old  breed  of  Yankee  pioneers. 
That's  what  my  folks  were,  'way  back.  I  took  a  sly 
peek  into  the  town  of  Egypt.  Good  folks,  but  no 
opportunities  here.  Everything  gone  to  seed.  Up 
in  my  township  a  new  deal  with  a  fresh  deck!  Plenty 
of  timber,  plenty  of  rich  land — and  mills  going  up. 
Confound  it!  I  propose  to  be  boss  of  a  real  town — 
not  a  wild  land  plantation!" 

He  suddenly  shifted  his  posture.  He  came  for 
ward  in  his  chair  and  set  his  elbows  on  his  knees. 
"Say,  Vaniman,  I  got  Hexter's  opinion  a  few  days 
ago  when  I  opened  up  to  him  and  hired  him  to  attend 
to  the  law.  But  I  want  to  ask  you  now  what  you 
think  of  my  real-estate  agent?" 

The  young  man  shifted  his  bewildered  gaze  from 
the  colonel's  jovial  and  inquiring  visage  to  the 
Squire's  equally  cheerful  countenance. 

"Known  to  Pharaoh  and  the  modern  Children  of 
Israel  as  the  Prophet  Elias,  Frank,"  explained  the 
notary.  "I  have  heartily  indorsed  his  good  work. 
Furthermore,  he  knows  well  how  to  keep  a  secret 
and  how  to  train  others  to  keep  one.  Tasper  Britt 
went  to  bed  this  night  without  one  inkling  of  what 
was  about  to  happen.  He  did  not  know  that  he  was 
to  be  left  here  without  men  to  toil  and  pay  him  his 
twelve  per  cent.  He  has  the  town  debts.  He  has 

350 


The  Promised  Land 

the  bare  acres  he  has  foreclosed  on — he  has  the 
tumble-down  houses.  He  has  the  paupers  on  the 
poor  farm.  He — " 

"Hold  on,  Squire!  I  forgot  about  those  paupers," 
broke  in  the  colonel.  "I  want  a  town  that's  fully 
rounded  out.  A  few  paupers  belong  in  a  town  so 
that  they  may  serve  to  remind  other  folks  that  they 
must  keep  busy  and  avoid  the  poor  farm.  And  even 
the  paupers  will  wake  up  and  go  to  work  in  my  town ! 
Work  will  be  in  the  air.  I'm  going  to  send  a  wagon 
after  those  paupers.  Britt  is  no  sort  of  a  man  to  be 
allowed  pets;  he'll  let  'em  starve." 

"Undoubtedly,"  agreed  the  Squire.  "I'll  say, 
further,  Frank,  that  when  the  Prophet  started  off 
last  evening,  blowing  his  trump  to  sound  the  signal 
for  the  migration,  Britt  stood  and  saw  him  go — and 
never  guessed  what  it  meant." 

"I  heard  that  horn — I  wondered." 

"He's  a  good  blower,"  stated  Colonel  Wincott. 
"He  blew  all  the  props  out  from  under  the  man 
Britt.  Solidly  grounded  on  texts,  Elias  is!  Vani- 
man,  a  brand-new  scheme  needs  a  resourceful  opera 
tor."  He  patted  the  top  of  his  head.  "Pardon  me 
for  flattering  myself.  I  invented  the  system  and  the 
Prophet  played  it." 

Then  Colonel  Wincott  leaned  back,  stuck  his 
thumbs  into  the  armholes  of  his  vest,  and  rocked  on 
the  hind  legs  of  the  chair.  "I  played  a  hunch,"  he 
went  on.  "I  was  going  through  Scollay  Square  in 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

Boston  one  evening  and  I  heard  a  street  evangelist 
holding  forth.  He  was  preaching  on  the  subject, 
'Bondage.'  Sin  he  called  Pharaoh.  And  he  was 
hammering  the  hearers  with  texts  from  Exodus. 
The  idea  hit  me.  I  hung  up  beside  the  curb  till  he 
was  through  preaching,  then  1  invited  him  to  take  a 
ride  with  me  in  my  car.  And  a  wise  old  bird  I  found 
him  to  be!  No  hypocrite!  Doing  his  best  to  help  his 
fellow-men,  but  always  hep!  Never  out  of  a  city  till 
I  pulled  him  up  here.  Likes  the  country  now.  Going 
to  be  the  regular  preacher  in  my  new  town.  No  more 
robe-and-umbrella  business,  of  course.  That  was 
my  idea.  I'm  inclined  to  be  a  little  circusy  in  my 
notions.  He  stood  for  it.  The  scheme  helped  him 
to  put  over  what  he  couldn't  have  got  away  with  by 
ordinary  means." 

Vaniman  remembered  those  flashes  of  worldly 
wisdom  in  the  Prophet,  and  was  enlightened.  His 
countenance  revealed  his  thoughts. 

"Had  you  guessing,  eh?"  demanded  the  colonel. 
"Nothing  like  starting  folks  to  guessing.  Keeps  up 
the  interest.  One  by  one  Elias  snipped  the  cords 
that  bound  the  folks  to  the  soil  of  this  place.  Did  a 
fine  job.  They're  going  to  thrive  after  they  are 
transplanted.  Even  Squire  Hexter  is  going  to  bring 
up  the  rear  guard,  after  he  has  finished  here  with  the 
loose  ends  of  the  law  needed  in  the  case." 

"It's  to  be  a  clean  sweep,  Frank,"  the  Squire 
affirmed.  "Even  Usial  and  his  press;  the  new  town 

352 


The  Promised  Land 

will  be  in  his  legislative  class."  Then  he  looked 
long  at  Colonel  Wincott,  who  was  rocking  on  the 
legs  of  his  chair. 

"I  know  mighty  well  what  you  want  to  say  to 
me,  Squire  Hexter,"  stated  the  object  of  the  regard. 
"You  don't  need  to  say  a  word,  though.  I'll  do  the 
saying.  Vaniman,  you  have  had  a  raw  deal.  But 
you'll  soon  be  through  the  woods.  I'm  going  to  have 
a  bank  in  my  new  town.  You're  going  to  be  the  boss 
of  it." 

"Just  a  moment  before  you  say  anything,  Frank," 
expostulated  the  Squire  when  Vaniman,  choking 
with  doubts  and  gratitude  both,  attempted  to  speak. 
"I  propose  to  start  at  once  for  the  shire  town.  I'll 
begin  with  the  county  attorney.  I'll  have  your  name 
cleared  inside  of  twenty-four  hours." 

"And  don't  bother  with  any  Dobbins  for  that 
job,"  declared  the  colonel.  "Use  my  car.  My 
chauffeur  is  hiding  it  in  the  bush  a  little  ways  from 
here.  And  now,  Vaniman,  give  me  all  your  atten 
tion,"  he  went  on,  with  the  pride  of  a  successful 
performer.  "I'll  tell  you  what's  going  to  happen 
over  across  the  line  in  my  town.  It's  going  to  in 
terest  you.  You  have  been  a  man  of  affairs  and  you 
can  grasp  what  I'm  saying." 

But  Vaniman  did  not  seem  to  be  grasping  even 
that  introduction  of  the  subject.  He  had  heard 
hurrying  footsteps  outside  the  house. 

"You'll  never  listen  to   anything  that  will   stir 
353 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

your  blood  like  what  I'm  going  to  tell  you  of  my 
plans  for  the  future,"  insisted  the  colonel. 

But  a  tremulous  voice  called:   "Frank!    Frank!" 

Vaniman  leaped  from  his  chair  and  turned  his 
back  on  the  man  who  proposed  to  stir  the  blood  of 
the  listener. 

Squire  Hexter  hurried  to  Colonel  Wincott  and 
whispered  information  which  caused  the  master  of 
The  Promised  Land  to  elevate  his  eyebrows  under- 
standingly. 

"Great  Caesar!  Why,  sure!"  he  blurted,  and 
popped  up  out  of  his  chair. 

Following  the  Squire,  he  tiptoed  to  the  door  and 
stood  at  one  side  when  the  notary  opened  and  peeped 
out. 

"Vona!"  called  the  Squire,  gently.  "The  boy  is 
in  here.  Come!" 

She  ran  past  them  into  the  room. 

Colonel  Wincott  ducked  out  and  the  Squire  fol 
lowed  and  closed  the  door.  He  closed  it  slowly, 
softly,  reverently,  and  then  turned  a  smiling  face  of 
compassionate  understanding  toward  Xoa  and  the 
colonel. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THROUGH  THE  GATES  OF  THE  DAWN  INTO  " LIBERTY*' 

PHERE  was  a  hush  in  the  Squire's  house.     The 
-*•    three  who  were  in  the  sitting  room  discussed 
affairs,  subduing  their  tones  almost  to  whispers. 

When  somebody  tramped  on  to  the  porch  and 
pounded  on  the  door,  the  interruption  was  startling. 

The  Squire  went  and  opened  the  door  and  dis 
closed  Deputy-Warden  Bangs  of  the  state  prison. 
But  when  Bangs  made  a  step  forward  the  notary 
bulked  himself  in  the  doorway  with  all  the  dignity 
his  modest  size  would  permit. 

"I'm  led  to  believe  that  you  have  in  this  house  an 
escaped  convict,  name  of  Vaniman,"  declared  the 
officer. 

"Don't  your  prison  records  show  that  the  convict 
named  Vaniman  is  officially  dead,  sir?" 

"I'll  admit  that;  but  if  what  I  have  heard  since 
I  was  routed  out  of  my  bed  is  so,  those  records  will 
have  to  be  revised." 

"I  have  no  control  over  your  records,"  returned 
the  Squire,  grimly. 

Mr.  Bangs  made  another  step  forward. 
355 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

"But  I  have  full  control  over  my  own  house,  sir. 
You  cannot  come  in.'* 

"Do  you  stand  in  the  way  of  a  deputy  warden  of 
the  state  prison?" 

"I  certainly  do  until  he  presents  himself  at  my 
door  with  a  proper  search  warrant,  instead  of  coming 
here  on  the  strength  of  mere  hearsay." 

"I  tried  to  get  a  warrant,"  the  officer  confessed. 
"But  I  can't  locate  the  trial  justice." 

"I  hear  that  he  is  moving,"  was  the  Squire's  dry 
retort. 

"You  seem  to  be  the  only  one  in  the  place  who 
isn't  moving,"  said  Bangs,  craning  his  neck  to  peer 
past  the  keeper  of  the  door. 

"Oh,  I'm  simply  delaying  my  departure  a  few 
days  in  order  to  close  up  some  matters  of  busi 
ness." 

"Let  me  tell  you  that  if  you're  concealing  a  con 
vict  in  this  house  you'll  have  more  business  than 
what  you  plan  on.  I'm  up  here — " 

"As  you  have  reported  to  me  and  all  others,  you're 
up  here  to  find  two  escaped  prisoners,  sir.  Very  well ! 
They  are  not  in  my  house.  But  I  have  heard  from 
them.  They  were  seen  a  very  short  time  ago  in  the 
stretch  of  woods  near  here  known  as  Baniman's 
Bower.  If  you  hurry  you  may  catch  them." 

Bangs  displayed  prompt  interest.  He  showed 
more  when  the  Squire  added:  "They  may  be  al 
ready  captured.  I  learned,  also,  that  a  man  who  has 

356 


Through  the  Gates  of  the  Dawn  into  "Liberty" 

been  a  prison  guard  was  in  the  same  locality.  You 
officials  seem  to  be  very  vigilant!" 

Mr.  Bangs  choked  back  some  sort  of  a  threatened 
explosion.  He  stood  there,  shifting  from  foot  to  foot. 
Then  he  blurted:  "Say,  you  seem  to  be  the  most 
level-headed  man  in  this  town.  I'll  go  chase  those 
convicts  if  your  tip  is  a  straight  one.  But  tell  me! 
Am  I  having  the  nightmare,  or  are  all  these  things 
really  happening  around  here?" 

However,  Squire  Hexter  did  not  try  to  comfort  the 
perturbed  Mr.  Bangs  just  then.  The  notary  stepped 
out  on  the  porch,  closing  his  door  behind  him.  He 
stared  into  the  graying  murk  of  the  night  and  the 
fog.  That  fog  was  showing  a  light  which  was  not 
that  of  the  dawn.  It  was  a  spreading,  baleful, 
reddening  glare,  and  after  a  few  moments  it  covered 
all  the  sky. 

Then  men  began  to  shout.  There  was  an  especial 
uproar  from  one  quarter.  The  Squire  knew  that  in 
the  direction  of  the  hullabaloos  were  located  the  camps 
in  which  were  lodged  the  imported  workmen  who  had 
wrought  into  solid  structure  the  plans  of  the  mansion 
that  Britt  had  held  in  pictured  form  before  the  eyes 
of  Egypt. 

The  feet  of  running  men  pounded  along  the  high 
way.  Somebody  cried,  in  clarion  tones,  "It's  Tasp 
Britt's  new  house!" 

The  Squire  ran  into  the  road,  and  Bangs  followed. 

The  notary  hailed  a  little  group  of  men  who  came 
357 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

rushing  from  the  direction  of  the  main  part  of  the 
village.  "Why  aren't  you  bringing  the  tub?  Fetch 
Hecla!  Quick,  men!" 

"She's  gone!"  panted  one  of  the  group. 

"Gone?" 

"There  wasn't  any  wagon  left  behind,  Squire,  and 
they  had  to  haul  that  gold.  They  hove  it  into 
Hecly's  water  tank  and  formed  a  guard,  and  she's 
been  a  whole  half  hour  gone!" 

At  that  juncture  a  man  came  running  to  them 
from  the  direction  of  the  fire.  The  Squire  recognized 
him  as  the  boss  of  the  carpenters.  "Mr.  Britt  is  in 
that  house.  I  saw  him  through  a  window.  But  it's 
a  furnace  from  top  to  bottom." 

The  Squire  opened  his  mouth  as  if  query,  urgently 
demanding  utterance,  had  pried  apart  his  jaws. 
"How  do  you  think  the  fire — "  But  he  promptly 
closed  his  mouth  and  set  his  lips  tightly.  He  shook 
his  head  with  the  manner  of  one  who  did  not  require 
information.  Then  he  turned  and  hurried  to  his 
house. 

Colonel  Wincott  and  Xoa  were  on  the  porch, 
lighted  by  the  great,  red  torch  whose  radiance  was 
flung  afar  by  the  reflector  aid  of  the  fog. 

"It's  Britt's  house — and  Britt  is  in  it,"  he  told 
them.  "Colonel,  your  man  Friday  had  over  many 
times  one  text  that  fits  this  thing.  'Can  a  man 
take  fire  into  his  bosom,  and  his  clothing  not  be 
burned?'" 

358 


Through  the  Gates  of  the  Dawn  into  "Liberty1' 

He  went  to  Xoa  and  patted  her  arm.  "Better  go 
inside,  mother.  It  isn't  a  good  thing  to  be  looking 
at.  Where  are  the  children?" 

Frank  and  Vona  answered  that  question  by  appear 
ing  in  the  door.  They  were  honestly  affected  by  the 
news  the  Squire  gave  them.  Vona  hid  her  face 
against  the  young  man's  breast. 

"It  seems  to  be  a  self-operating  proposition," 
stated  Colonel  Wincott.  "And  about  all  anybody 
can  do  is  to  let  it  flicker!" 

Vaniman  was  clearly  not  the  captain  of  his  soul  in 
those  distressing  circumstances.  He  was  displaying 
symptoms  of  collapse.  Squire  Hexter  noted  and 
acted. 

"Wincott,  this  boy  must  not  stay  here  in  this  town 
any  longer.  If  that  prison  guard  runs  afoul  of  him 
before  I  get  matters  under  way  at  the  shire,  Frank 
will  be  galloped  back  to  his  cell  in  order  to  make  a 
grandstand  play.  I've  got  to  be  going.  Take  Frank 
under  your  wing.  Get  him  over  the  border." 

"Surest  thing  in  the  world!"  declared  the  hearty 
colonel.  "Got  a  hitch?" 

"My  horse  and  double-seater.  Come  along  to  the 
stable — you,  too,  Frank.  Xoa,  bring  him  one  of  my 
coats  and  a  hat!" 

Vona  leaped  away  from  her  lover  and  faced'the 
Squire.    "I  shall  go  with  him,  wherever  he  may  go!" 
she  said,  with  the  fire  of  one  who  expected  to  meet 
opposition. 
24  359 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

But  the  Squire  grinned."  "Why,  girl,  of  course 
you'll  go!  I  wouldn't  grab  life-saving  medicine  away 
from  a  sick  man.  Take  your  mother  along,  and  God 
bless  the  whole  of  you  on  the  way." 

That  way  was  toward  the  north,  on  the  heels  of 
the  wains  and  the  flocks  and  the  herds  and  the  men 
and  women  and  children  of  the  migrating  population 
of  Egypt. 

Colonel  Wincott  occupied  the  front  seat  with 
Mrs.  Harnden.  By  the  time  he  had  teamed  the 
Squire's  fat  little  nag  along  for  a  mile  he  had  suc 
ceeded  in  calming  Mrs.  Harnden's  hysterical  spirits. 
He  induced  her  to  quit  looking  over  her  shoulder  at 
the  great  torch  that  lighted  luridly  the  heavens 
above  the  deserted  town.  "It's  a  pillar  of  fire  by 
night,  madam,  as  you  say!  But  that's  as  far  as  it 
fits  in  with  the  Exodus  sentiment.  It's  behind  us 
— and  behind  us  let  it  stay." 

At  the  end  of  another  mile  Mrs.  Harnden  was 
extolling  the  capability  of  her  husband. 

"I've  heard  about  him,"  said  the  colonel.  "Opti 
mist,  eh?  So  am  I.  Get  in  touch  with  him  and  tell 
him  to  come  to  my  new  town.  He'll  have  some 
thing  that  he  can  really  optimize  over." 

Colonel  Wincott  sedulously  kept  his  attention  off 
the  two  who  rode  on  the  back  seat;  he  obliged  Mrs. 
Harnden  to  do  the  same. 

After  a  time  the  trotting  nag  overtook  the  trailers 
of  the  procession.  The  colonel  hailed  and  passed 

360 


Through  the  Gates  of  the  Dawn  into  "Liberty" 

one  wain  after  another,  steadily  calling,  "Gangway!" 
They  recognized  his  authority;  they  obeyed;  they 
gave  him  half  the  road. 

He  had  an  especially  hearty  greeting  for  the  hand 
tub,  Hecla,  trundling  on  its  little  wheels,  men 
guarding  its  flanks,  men  pulling  on  the  rope  by  which 
it  was  propelled.  Ike  Jones  was  one  of  the  guards. 
He  gave  the  colonel's  party  a  return  greeting  by  a 
flourish  on  the  "tramboon." 

"The  stage  starts  from  your  town  this  morning, 
Colonel!  Runs  express  through  Egypt." 

"Good  idea!  Nothing  but  scenery  left  there," 
agreed  the  colonel.  "Take  good  care  of  that  gold, 
boys!  The  receiver  of  the  Egypt  Trust  Company 
will  be  able  to  cut  some  melon ! " 

But  Prof.  Almon  Waite,  toddling  behind  the 
treasure,  had  a  metaphor  of  his  own.  "This  gold 
will  gloriously  pave  the  streets  of  the  New  Jerusalem, 
sir!" 

They  went  on  in  the  growing  dawn,  threading  their 
way  among  the  vehicles  and  the  folks  on  foot. 

In  all  their  progress  they  met  only  one  party 
headed  in  the  opposite  direction,  coming  back 
toward  the  town  that  had  been  deserted.  Vaniman 
beheld  Bartley  Wagg  teaming  along  the  two  convicts. 
They  were  tied  together  and  he  was  threatening  them 
with  a  club.  They  merely  flashed  on  the  screen  of 
the  mist  and  were  out  of  sight.  It  was  evident  that 
Mr.  Wagg  had  determined  to  grab  a  couple  of  straws, 

361 


When  Egypt  Went  Broke 

at  any  rate,  in  a  desperate  attempt  to  buoy  himself 
officially  in  the  flood  of  his  misfortunes. 

The  sun  was  burning  away  the  mists  when  Colonel 
Wincott's  turnout  topped  a  hill;  he  waved  his  whip 
to  invite  the  attention  of  his  passengers.  "There  she 
lies,  folks!  I've  been  calling  it  my  town.  From 
now  on  it's  our  town.  Some  daisy  on  the  breast  of 
nature,  eh?" 

There  was  a  lake  on  the  facets  of  whose  ripples  the 
sunlight  danced.  White  water  tumbled  down  cas 
cades.  Beside  the  lake  there  was  a  nest  of  portable 
houses.  "Homes  till  we  build  bigger  ones,"  ex 
plained  the  master  of  The  Promised  Land.  "I'm 
giving  building  lots  free.  The  class  of  settlers  war 
rants  it!" 

Then  Colonel  Wincott  called  their  attention  to 
something  else — something  that  was  not  visible. 
He  wrinkled  his  nose,  but  his  sniff  indicated  gusto. 
"Smell  it?  It's  food  for  the  Children  of  Israel.  Not 
manna.  But  it  will  fit  the  occasion,  I  hope.  It's  a 
barbecue.  A  whole  ox  and  all  the  fixings." 

Then  they  came  to  a  high  arch,  fashioned  from 
boughs  of  fir  and  spruce  trees.  The  wains  were 
rolling  under  it. 

Frank  and  Vona  lifted  up  their  eyes.  At  the  top 
of  the  arch,  in  great  letters  that  were  formed  of  pine 
tassels  fastened  to  a  stretch  of  canvas,  was  the  word, 
"LIBERTY." 

"The  name  of  our  new  town,"  said  the  colonel. 
362 


Through  the  Gates  of  the  Dawn  into  "Liberty" 

But  for  the  two  on  the  rear  seat  it  was  more  than 
the  name  of  a  town.  Vaniman  pressed  the  girl's 
trembling  hand  between  his  palms.  They  looked  at 
each  other  through  the  lenses  of  grateful  tears. 

Just  inside  the  arch  stood  Prophet  Elias,  wel 
coming  all  comers.  He  had  put  off  his  robe  and  had 
laid  aside  his  fantastic  umbrella.  He  wore  the  sober 
garb  of  a  dominie,  and  his  face,  above  his  tie  of  white 
lawn,  displayed  shrewd  and  complete  appreciation 
of  the  occasion. 

He  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed  low  when  Colonel 
Wincott's  party  passed  under  the  arch.  And  this 
sonorous  proclamation  followed  Frank  and  Vona: 

"And  I  will  bring  the  blind  by  a  way  that  they 
knew  not;  I  will  lead  them  in  paths  that  they  have 
not  known;  I  will  make  darkness  light  before  them, 
and  crooked  things  straight.  These  things  will  I 
do  unto  them,  and  not  forsake  them.'" 

"Amen!"  responded  Colonel  Wincott,  fervently. 

The  two  persons  on  the  rear  seat  did  not  speak. 
In  silence  they  had  reverently  prostrated  themselves 
at  a  shrine  of  thanksgiving  in  their  souls. 

THE   END 


DC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000132458     1 


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